


Yours, When Ready

by LollipopCop



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Anxious Aziraphale (Good Omens), Arguing, Aziraphale and Crowley Through The Ages (Good Omens), Crowley-centric (Good Omens), Emotional Hurt/Comfort, First Kiss, First Time, Hurt Crowley (Good Omens), Love Confessions, M/M, Making Up, Pining Crowley (Good Omens), Rejection, Understanding Crowley, but everyone has a limit
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-02
Updated: 2020-01-02
Packaged: 2021-02-27 10:47:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 23,089
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22075720
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LollipopCop/pseuds/LollipopCop
Summary: "Aziraphale, please, I’ve loved you for eons,” Crowley reached out and grasped his hand. Instantly, intense fear from Aziraphale’s essence shot through Crowley and he staggered back with a gasp.Aziraphale was shaking his head roughly, stepping backwards, too. “Stop,” he said faintly, agony in his eyes. “I can’t give you what you want. I can’tdothis, Crowley,” he lamented. His face hardened. “Iwon’t.”~~~After waiting for 6,000 years, panicked and feeling as if they've run out of time, Crowley confesses his love at the bandstand. Aziraphale rejects him anyway.
Relationships: Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 121
Kudos: 1050
Collections: Bittersweet Good Omens





	Yours, When Ready

**Author's Note:**

> Every time I think I'll stop writing them, I get another angsty idea. Sorry for putting this in one chapter, but there wasn't really a good stopping point for a chapter break.

Crowley felt like he was going to tear his hair out. “This is ridiculous. You’re ridiculous. I don’t even know why I’m talking to you.”

“Well frankly, neither do I,” Aziraphale shot back.

“I’m out of here,” he turned and began to walk away.

“You can’t leave, Crowley,” Aziraphale’s tired voice stopped him in his tracks. “There isn’t anywhere else to go.”

Crowley turned around, his heart in his throat, the words that were often the subject of his dreams about to be spoken. “It’s a big universe,” he spread his arms. “Even if this all ends up in a puddle of burning goo,” he gestured around them, “we can go off together.”

Aziraphale furrowed his brow. “Go off together?” he asked in disbelief.

* * *

Crowley was not patient by nature, but the thing was, he knew what it was like. He knew how hard it must have been for Aziraphale, so he let him be. He let him take his time, take his own pace. You can't rush these things— _shouldn’t_ rush these things. He may have been a demon, but he knew far more about love than he was willing to admit to anyone. He was already in danger of Hell’s wrath by just being friends with Aziraphale, but if they knew he loved him, felt all the mushy, warm, fawning devotion which was forbidden among the Fallen? They would torture him, impale his body through a pole to parade around Hell to warn everyone else not to fall in love, and then drown what remained of him in holy water. 

But Crowley was never one to stay out of trouble with authority, was he? Doing something that would be treacherous to Hell wasn’t really a moral dilemma. Not to him.

Aziraphale, on the other hand, had a big problem with bucking authority, at least explicitly. He gave away his sword, of course, and performed temptations and talked to a demon, but he did all of this while conflicted, fretting constantly. He would chew his lip nervously and sigh heavily, hands fiddling and shuffling on his feet when he was pushed too far. He may have had his moments of disobedience, but it was followed by anxious glances towards Heaven, and usually periods when he distanced himself from Crowley.

“I should be going,” Aziraphale said, the next time they saw each other after Eden. “I would say it was nice to see you, but that would be improper.”

“And?”

Aziraphale glared at him. “Good day, Crawley.”

Crowley understood, he really did. It hadn’t been easy for him to admit he was in love, either. How could he have been, when Heaven, Hell, and humanity insisted demons couldn’t love? But he knew he was in love with Aziraphale by the time they went to Greece, although it probably happened sometime before that. He couldn’t be sure, because he couldn’t exactly go around asking, _“Hey, do my knees feel like they’re gonna shake around my supposed hereditary enemy because of a weird crush, or is it love?”_ Would have been a bit awkward, that. He felt an intense fluttering in his heart on the wall of Eden, he knew that for sure.

Aziraphale had looked over, wing extended above him. “Are you quite all right? Your complexion has gone rather red. Is that a demon thing?”

“Has it?” Crowley had touched his warm cheek curiously. “Weird. That usually doesn’t happen. I feel all right.” He didn’t really, because for once, someone asked if he was okay, and that only made his heart beat harder. 

His face kept getting warm and his heart kept pounding around Aziraphale, and somewhere about 2000 BC he realized, _Oh, I like him quite a lot, don’t I?_ They rarely saw each other back then, but he enjoyed Aziraphale’s company every single time. It was dawning upon him that Aziraphale actually had a good bit of influence over his emotions, and he didn’t like that, not one bit. It put him in a state of vulnerability, which was dangerous for a demon. He couldn’t let anyone have sway over his actions or emotions. He couldn’t let his emotions make his _body_ react, either. It was weird, having his essence stuffed into this meat puppet. Their true forms didn’t have hearts that could pound, or skin that could flush a brilliant red, or palms that could sweat.

But something was happening on a more supernatural level, too. When Crowley Fell, Her love was violently ripped from his core, tearing out of his soul like barbed wire, causing him to sob and wail on the shores of the pool of sulfur as he trembled and held himself, feeling incredibly, irreversibly lonely. He thought loneliness would be his only companion for the rest of eternity, but the hollow ache that lay underneath the angry scar from the departure of Her love would lessen a little around Aziraphale. He would feel just a little bit of relief, and that itself felt like a miracle, but it was kind of fucking scary, too, that a single being was able to bring him such pleasure. (Eurgh, that sounded perverted.) He tried to tell himself he just liked Aziraphale as a friend, but he would catch himself starting to smile broadly as he chatted away about some nonsense, and Crowley would frown and mentally scold himself. Besides, he didn’t think friends blushed around each other, although it was hard to tell, because he didn’t really have friends.

Whenever they laughed a little too hard, or Crowley smiled at him a little too long, Aziraphale would look away, his face falling, and find some excuse to end the conversation.

“Don’t you have some trouble to start?” he would ask, a judgmental glint to his eye. 

Crowley felt like Aziraphale was trying to remind them both that no, he was a demon, they shouldn’t be talking, they shouldn’t be enjoying each other’s company. It irritated him. They weren’t really that different after all, were they? But Aziraphale thought they were, at least he _wanted_ to think they were.

“Don’t be absurd,” Aziraphale rolled his eyes in Egypt when Crowley tried to bring it up. “Of course we’re different. _You_ are Fallen,” he lifted his nose. “We are enemies, even if we don’t go out of our way to attack one another.”

Crowley crossed his arms, feeling stupid for starting this conversation. “Whatever you say, since you’re the expert and all.”

Aziraphale snorted. “Oh, come on. You don’t honestly believe we have anything in common? Why, you could summon hellfire right now and extinguish me.” He paused. “Erm, even though I’d rather you didn’t.”

He was downright insulted now. Aziraphale really thought he’d do that? What did he take him for? _A demon_ , his mind supplied. “Just tell yourself whatever helps you sleep at night,” he muttered.

“I don’t sleep.”

Crowley growled in frustration.

He could take a hint. He decided to stay away from Aziraphale, if he was going to do nothing but repeat Heaven’s trite like the other angels. But then, Aziraphale came up to him in Rome, delighted to see him. Crowley frowned bitterly at the beating of his heart, and tried giving him the cold shoulder. He wasn’t in the mood at all. He had just tried to tempt Caligula, but yet again, humans were proving to be rather terrible all by themselves. He just wanted to be left alone.

“Oh, let me _tempt_ you—!”

Crowley turned around, lightness entering his veins, and raised his eyebrows.

“No,” Aziraphale smiled sheepishly. “That’s your job, isn’t it?”

And ah, damn it, Crowley couldn’t stay angry. It wasn’t like Aziraphale knew he was having internal emotional crises, anyway. Wasn’t his fault.

Aziraphale showing him kindness made him feel a bunch of confusing, happy, terrifying things he thought he lost the ability to experience with his Fall, but that wasn’t what made him realize it was love. It was realizing he wanted to make Aziraphale happy and protect him at all costs that had him cursing silently at the sky.

Right, so. Now for that night in Greece. They were getting remarkably drunk. They were still getting used to inhabiting these strange bodies, which made them feel more human, but could have the alcohol drained out of them in an instant. It was weird, being in a body. There were things they hadn’t tried yet. Crowley had eaten, drank, and slept, but he hadn’t kissed or had sex with anyone. He wasn’t sure if he wanted to have sex, but he knew this line of thought made his face feel really hot when he was around Aziraphale, so he couldn’t think about that at the moment.

Aziraphale, himself, was clearly not used to sleep or drowsiness in general. They were sitting against the trunk of a large tree, having retreated away from the humans in the pub after their conversations about Heaven and Hell raised some eyebrows. It was better to be alone together like this, Crowley thought, too drunk to comment on how close they were and the fact that their thighs almost touched. They really were pretty damn drunk, too drunk, and Aziraphale was struggling to keep upright.

His head dipped forward, chin hitting his chest, and then jerked upwards. “What?” he squinted. “Whaz happin’?” he slurred.

Crowley looked at him, feeling fuzzy and relaxed under the twinkling night sky. He liked the Mediterranean. It was pretty and full of wine. “You’re just drunk.”

“Mmm,” Aziraphale nodded. “Yes. That’s it.” But the head nodding continued, followed by his eyes falling shut.

It took Crowley a solid twenty-two seconds to realize Aziraphale was falling asleep. He hid his smirk into his cup, and snorted into it when Aziraphale’s eyes shut and his head tipped backwards. The sound jerked him back into alertness, but Crowley just watched, maybe feeling a little mischievous, but definitely feeling fond. He didn’t say anything, and watched as Aziraphale’s head tipped back on the tree trunk, his eyelids fluttering open, then shut again, and then a deep exhale escaped him. His lips parted, and due to the upturned angle of his head, his jaw slowly dropped open.

Crowley was about to drunkenly cackle and think of some little prank to play on Mr. I Don’t Sleep when Aziraphale slumped sideways into the small space between their bodies, and his head landed heavily on his shoulder. Crowley choked on air. His eyes snapped down, looking at the white curls with growing panic. No, no, this wasn’t good. It felt like he was going to take one of those heart attacks so many humans died from. He squeezed his eyes shut, and then the alcohol drained back into the cup. He thought he needed to be sober, but that only made him shiver as Aziraphale shifted and rubbed his wine-flushed cheek against his shoulder. It was a _nuzzle._

Lips trembling, Crowley quietly asked, “Angel?”

Aziraphale’s nose twitched.

Okay, good, he was getting up.

Wrong. Aziraphale settled, his long lashes fluttered, and he started to snore softly.

All of Crowley’s insides melted into hot goo. There he was, a demon, the one kind-of-sort-of responsible for the downfall of mankind, reduced to a puddle of bubbling goo on the ground by the light, breathy snoring of a drunken angel. He looked up at the stars in the sky. _God, what are you doing?_ he asked Her. He clasped his hands tightly on his lap, gripping them hard, trying to cause some pain to counteract the fact that his heart had turned into jelly. What was he going to do? He looked down again at that peaceful, open face. No, he couldn’t wake him. That would be rude. Besides, it was probably his first nap. It should go uninterrupted. Crowley wasn’t being _kind_ , he was just...not thinking straight. But this was bonkers. An _angel_ felt comfortable enough to fall asleep with a _demon_. Humans backed away in fear at his eyes, demons weren’t allowed to like or trust each other, and angels loathed his kind. But not this one. Crowley trusted Aziraphale not to smite him up until this point, especially after he sought him out for dinner in Rome, but now his brain was telling him that he could trust him completely. It was only fair, wasn’t it, after he trusted him enough to do this? Okay, yeah, Aziraphale was drunk, but still. Crowley was completely unaccustomed to anyone trusting him. It was a damn good feeling, which meant it was completely overwhelming. He felt lucky to be trusted by him.

Crowley licked his lips, because he suddenly wanted to press them to Aziraphale’s forehead. He wanted to wrap his arm around him and hold him close, gather him against his chest and protect him from the cruelty humans were beginning to show, and from the dangers of Hell. He wanted to bring him back to his bed and miracle up the softest blankets imaginable for him to settle into. He wanted to watch Aziraphale wake up and flash a sleepy grin at him. He wanted to make him _happy_. He wanted to see the stressed lines under his eyes and the hunch of his shoulders disappear. A couple times over the past 2,000 years, Crowley overheard Gabriel talking down to Aziraphale, and he wanted to tell him to fuck off and reassure Aziraphale he was a good angel, the best She ever created. Crowley truly thought that.

Agh, fuck. This was love, wasn’t it? Somewhere along the way, the blushing and heart thumping and knee shaking turned into love. “Shit,” he swore under his breath. “What have you done to me?”

Aziraphale gave a small, sleepy hum and nuzzled closer. He was almost _cute_. 

Crowley hid his face in his hands. “You bastard,” he mumbled. What was he going to do? How did he let this happen? How did this angel stroll his way into Crowley’s heart? It was probably because he was clever, and funny, and fascinating, and genuinely good and an arse at the same time, and, damn it bloody fucking all, he was Crowley’s favorite person. 

Aziraphale shivered a little and huddled closer to Crowley’s side.

Crowley’s brain couldn’t function. He lifted a hand to snap his fingers to disappear, but that would make Aziraphale fall to the ground flat on his face, and that would hurt. He lowered his hand. That wouldn’t be good...which was why he should have done it. But he didn’t. The tugging on his heartstrings wouldn’t let him. He wearily glanced down at Aziraphale.

He was shivering repeatedly.

Oh, right. It was past midnight. It had gotten cold out. Crowley was used to being coldblooded, so he hadn’t noticed. He snapped his fingers, and a blanket wrapped around Aziraphale, who let out a contented, deep, sleepy moan in response. He cuddled his face into Crowley’s neck, nose brushing his skin, and since when had “cuddling” become a part of his vocabulary, anyway?!

Goosebumps broke out over Crowley’s skin. This was wrong. He should have left. He shouldn’t have loved this, loved him. But he couldn’t bring himself to move. It was all too _good,_ and sometimes, Crowley missed experiencing good things. He looked up at the stars he helped create, missing their glow. He thought of bringing Aziraphale to see his work, see what he used to do. Imagine that: an angel abandoning his post to go with a demon to space. Aziraphale would never. Still, Crowley briefly imagined asking, _Run away with me to the stars? You like pretty things, angel. I’d give them to you. I could love you, up there. No one would notice us._ He imagined Aziraphale’s face lighting up, brighter than the stars, without their bosses watching.

Crowley snapped out of it. Satan, what was wrong with him? He couldn’t ask that. It would instantly end their friendship.

He spent so long having an internal crisis that he didn’t even notice the sun rising, and didn’t think of how Aziraphale would react. He lifted his head when there was a small snort to his right, and shifting on his shoulder.

Aziraphale blinked open his eyes slowly. For a moment, his hazy blue gaze held Crowley’s, his features unguarded, lips still parted.

Crowley gulped.

Aziraphale’s eyes widened, his mouth snapped shut, and he bolted up quicker than lightning. “Good heavens!” he exclaimed, face aflame. “W-what is the meaning of this?!” he smoothed his hands down his robe, the blanket dropping to the dirt.

Crowley stood up, too, back sore from leaning against a tree all night. “Good morning to you, too,” he said dryly.

Then, anger flashed in Aziraphale’s eyes. “What do you think you’re playing at?” he pointed an accusatory finger.

Crowley held up his hands. “What are you on about?”

“Were you trying to attack me? I thought we had—some sort of understanding between us.” He crossed his arms defensively over his chest.

Crowley was lost. “Attack you? No—”

“Then why was I unconscious?” he demanded. “Did you drug my drink? Did you knock me over the head?”

“You fell _asleep_ ,” he hissed. Of course he had to fall in love with an absolute git.

Aziraphale’s hunched shoulders loosened. “...I did?”

“Yes!” he threw his hands in the air. “We got really drunk and you passed out. You’ve seen humans do it countless times, right?”

Aziraphale’s hands dropped by his sides. “Oh. Oh, Crowley, I’m terribly sorry. I just,” he looked away, shame coloring his round cheeks. “I’d never done that before, and our position was most improper. How could I let this happen?”

“I’ll stop you right there,” Crowley said, because for some reason, his heart felt like it was tearing in two. Was it the despair Aziraphale was showing at just sleeping with his head on his shoulder? Yeah, probably. “It was fine. I didn’t mind. I was too drunk to get up anyway.” A lie, for he had sobered up.

“I still shouldn’t have...I won’t do it again, I assure you.”

“I wasn’t bothered.”

“You should have been,” he snapped. “I certainly am.”

“I can tell,” he muttered.

“Did you simply sit there the whole time? Why didn’t you wake me?”

 _Because you turned me to goo._ “Stop acting like a grumpy human kid after getting up from a nap.”

Aziraphale glared at him. “You must take this more seriously. We’re enemies. We shouldn’t spend so much time together, let alone the night, and let alone—touch,” he forced the last word out. “Do you have any idea of the trouble I’d be in if Heaven saw that?”

Crowley’s torn heart wasn’t recovering. “Then I’m terribly angry at you,” he rolled his eyes, deflecting as best he knew how. “Satisfied?”

Aziraphale narrowed his eyes. “Yes. You won’t catch me sleeping again, so this won't be an issue in the future. Good day, Crowley,” he said primly, and turned on his heel, stomping away.

Crowley was left there, standing alone, his shoulder aching for the warmth of his cheek. Was he truly that disgusted by the idea of touching him? Well, fucking fine then. Whatever. 

He tried to convince himself he didn’t love him, but that lasted for about a week, and then he thought, _Ah, fuck it._ Loving Aziraphale was just another rule he would break, another way he was an outcast. No one ever had to know he was downright bloody fond of that fussy, annoying angel. He told himself it was partly selfish, too, because he _liked_ loving Aziraphale. He liked letting himself smile and melt a little when they were together. It was the only time he let a little bit of something vaguely resembling a soft side could shine through. And anyway, his internal protests that demons shouldn’t love were extremely outweighed by his desire to dote upon Aziraphale and rescue him from danger, so that was that. He loved him, but it was properly demonic if he loved him for his own benefit, yeah? Yeah.

Okay, so, all in all, he supposed it wasn’t actually that hard to accept he was in love. It made him feel good, and he never truly gave a shit about loyalty to Lucifer. Loving Aziraphale from afar was actually quite easy, and really impossible to resist. You can’t beat ‘em, join ‘em, right? That was what humans said. 

* * *

As easy as it was for him to accept he was in love was as _difficult_ as it was for Aziraphale to accept they were even friends.

Crowley wished Aziraphale could spend more time with him, but it felt like an impossibility. It was difficult enough to convince him to join the Arrangement, even after millennia of running into each other on earth. During King Arthur’s reign, Aziraphale had vehemently rejected Crowley’s suggestion that they both just stay home and lie on paperwork.

“No!” he snapped. “Absolutely out of the question. I am shocked that you would even imply such a thing. We’re not having this conversation! Not another word!” he turned around and walked away in his clunky silver armor.

Crowley just stared at him. “All right,” he said, not arguing at all. He was only being practical. If they were cancelling each other out anyway, why should they have to go around in heavy armor and damp places? But Aziraphale acted like lying to Heaven was as bad as murder.

“Right!” Aziraphale threw over his shoulder. He had gotten so indignant and offended at the idea of lying to Heaven about paperwork, so why on earth would he be comfortable with his friendship with a demon? It was a wonder he agreed to the Arrangement at all, eventually.

With some distance and time, and after that incident, Crowley began to realize that Aziraphale had reacted out of fear in Greece more than anything else. He may have been drunk, but he still trusted Crowley enough to hang out with him and fall asleep with him in the first place. What would Heaven think of an angel spending time with the Damned? Not very well at all. They didn’t like anyone not following orders or acceptable behavior.

 _“I hope I didn’t do the wrong thing,”_ Aziraphale said in Eden. He was told that demons were always in the wrong, and that being friendly towards one was against Heaven. Of course he would freak the fuck out after something like that. Pleasing the Almighty was important to him. Crowley remembered when pleasing Her was important to him, too. He remembered what Her divine love felt like in his essence, and couldn’t really blame Aziraphale for not wanting to lose that. In addition, Crowley may not have had a high opinion of Heaven, but he knew Aziraphale would be miserable in Hell, and he didn’t want him to get in trouble with his superiors, either. Crowley thought of his own pain from his Fall, and he knew he didn’t want that for Aziraphale. He didn’t know if being friends with him would make Aziraphale Fall, but he understood why that seemed like a risk to him and Aziraphale was always looking over his shoulder. The few times they touched, save for the time he had been sleeping, Crowley was able to sense Aziraphale’s aura, and it was filled with nothing but anxiety. He wanted to ease that away, but he didn’t know how.

One time, only one time, they held hands. Sort of. 

It was a simple thing. They were walking, but a large stone was sticking up out of the ground, and Aziraphale’s foot caught on it.

Crowley was gripping his hands to hold him upright in a flash. “You o—kay?” With both of Aziraphale’s hands in his, he gasped as he felt a hint of his aura. Aziraphale looked up at him with frightened eyes, his anxiety literally palpable, causing Crowley to grimace.

“Hey, it’s all right,” he tried to reassure. Damn, he thought _his_ issues were bad enough. The anxiety that ran through him made his throat feel like he was going to close. He experienced this sensation, himself, more times than he could count since his Fall. Crowley learned to deal with it somewhat, but Aziraphale had not.

Aziraphale’s anxiety built up to panic, and he stammered. “I—I…”

Crowley had an intense ache in his heart. “You okay?” No, he wasn’t. Crowley could feel it. He knew Aziraphale was a worrier from the moment they met, but he didn’t know it was this bad. It reminded Crowley of right before his Fall, when he could tell _something_ was going to happen, but there was uncertainty. It was the first time he really felt fear, and it was intense and all-consuming. It was almost a relief when the Fall finally happened. Almost. Now he saw that Aziraphale felt something similar, and he genuinely sympathized with him.

“Just breathe,” Crowley tried to reassure before his mind could catch up to his mouth.

Aziraphale ripped his hands away. “What were you thinking?!” he whispered furiously.

Crowley shoved his hands into his pockets. The anxiety was gone, but his heartache remained. “You’re welcome,” he muttered. _Can I fix it? Can I make you feel better?_

“We can’t _touch,”_ he spat. “You know the trouble we’d be in!”

No, he couldn’t fix it. He was the cause. He couldn’t change Heaven’s mind about beings like him, and he didn’t think he could change Aziraphale’s mind, at least not right here, right now. Realizing what you were taught was nonsense was a gradual process for some, Crowley knew. All the same, Aziraphale’s words stung the bitter wounds his Fall left on his soul. “Won’t happen again,” he said hollowly, glad his glasses covered his eyes. He watched Aziraphale indignantly walk away from him.

Crowley understood Aziraphale buying all of Heaven’s nonsense, too. There was a time when he believed all of it. That time didn’t really last long, but that was besides the point. Aziraphale wanted to do good, and he believed Heaven’s will was good, so he didn’t want to disobey. It was sound logic, objectively. He thought being friends with Crowley was disobeying Heaven, so he was reluctant to spend time with him. Fine. But then he was the one who sought out Crowley sometimes. He certainly wasn’t going to be the one to stop and angel from disobeying Heaven, but it annoyed him when Aziraphale pulled his oh-no-we’re-not-friends schtick. They certainly had to deny their friendship to their kinds, but not to each other. They even had the Arrangement now and saw bloody plays together.

“Oh, he’s not my friend,” Aziraphale said, all humor gone from his face. “We’ve never met before. We don’t know each other.”

Crowley couldn’t hold back a shit-eating grin. “I think you should get on with the play,” he said, blatantly ignoring Aziraphale. Really, now. Of course they were friends. The overt denial, while somewhat understandable, was bloody ridiculous.

But sometimes, and even in the same conversation, Aziraphale would say things that made Crowley wonder if he may have actually liked him more than a friend.

“If Hell finds out, they won’t just be angry. They’ll _destroy_ you,” he said with all the worry in the world in his round blue eyes.

Crowley thought of teasing him with something like _“And why would you care about that, angel?”_ But he decided against it. “Nobody ever has to know,” he said, holding up the coin. “Toss you for Edinburgh.” 

Another piece of propaganda purported by both Heaven and Hell was that demons did not and could not love. Crowley knew he could from experience, but had no idea about his peers. You couldn’t go around asking demons if they loved anyone without expecting to be taunted and tortured for at least a good decade. He wasn’t an idiot. He kept his mouth shut about Aziraphale in Hell, period, so he never talked about love to anyone.

That changed after the tenth successful performance of _Hamlet._

Aziraphale was back from Edinburgh, and his fatigue from the trip was cancelled out by his delight at the play’s success. They were in a pub after the performance, seated at a table in a quieter, darker corner. 

Aziraphale buzzed with happiness as he gushed about the monologues and acting.

Crowley didn’t like the weepy ones. They hit closer to home than he was willing to admit. But he miracled the play a success as a favor, and it was so worth it. He was staring adoringly at Aziraphale from behind his glasses. He couldn’t help it. Loving him felt so good sometimes. Aziraphale had been babbling for seven minutes straight. He was bloody endearing when he got like this, and Crowley had his chin held up by his hand, elbow atop the table, not caring that it was considered rude. He was tipsy, but he didn’t know if his face was flushed from the alcohol or his emotions. It wasn’t well-lit over here, though, so he didn’t worry about it. He was thinking about these outfits that were in fashion were a little absurd, but Aziraphale looked cute in that puffy collar and tights. Crowley would be sad when the trends changed, although his goatee was starting to get on his nerves a little. 

Aziraphale had snorted when he first saw it. _“Really?”_

 _“It’s_ fashion, _angel.”_

_“Your hair resembles a lion’s mane.”_

_“Uh. Thanks?”_

_A not-so-annoyed eye roll._

In the present, they had company. “Excuse me.”

Crowley scowled at the woman standing by their table, who had interrupted Aziraphale’s rambling.

Aziraphale smiled. “Hello, my dear.”

“Would either of you gentlemen like to buy some roses?” she asked, a basket full of them held at her hip. “Valentine’s Day is tomorrow, in case you forgot something for you special someone,” she raised an eyebrow, trying to get a sale from the drunken men in the pub. Not a bad strategy, Crowley could give her that.

Aziraphale chuckled. “Oh, no, I’m not with anyone, dear. Sorry.”

He imagined giving Aziraphale a rose just to see his face, but dismissed it. He quite liked the idea of giving him flowers, though. He would have to do it sometime in the future on some kind of occasion that could be brushed off as friendly. Before the woman could turn to him, Crowley spat out, “Go away. Love stinks.”

She huffed and walked away.

Aziraphale gave him a disapproving look. “Really?”

“What?” he shrugged. “Celebrating a holiday is weird when you knew who it’s named after.”

“I suppose,” he conceded. “But even though you can’t feel it, you didn’t have to dismiss such a powerful emotion.”

It took Crowley a minute to figure out what the fuck he was talking about, because his dismissal of love wasn’t serious and only meant to make the woman go away. But shit, now they were talking about love. Okay. “Um.” What was he supposed to say? “I. Heh. Powerful emotion? You’re such an angel. Bec-cause you’re a being of love and all.” That was the lamest comeback he ever came up with. He took a sip of his beer (he didn’t even really like it, but he needed something else to do with his mouth than talk).

“Yes, I am,” he said mildly. 

His earlier words caught up with Crowley. So Aziraphale didn’t think he could love. He bought that line from Heaven, too, huh? Crowley felt hurt, but he shouldn’t have been. He shouldn’t have expected Aziraphale to think otherwise, even if he saved him a couple times already by now... 

He lowered his jug to the table. “I just wanted her to leave,” Crowley muttered. “I wasn’t trying to dismiss anything.”

Aziraphale sighed and his expression turned sympathetic. “No, I apologize for growing defensive. Your nature is what it is, after all.”

Crowley’s chest felt heavy. “My nature?” he prompted.

Aziraphale grew a little uncomfortable. “Your, well, you don’t understand love because you can’t feel it, can you? You can’t change that.” He tugged at his puffy collar.

Crowley looked down at the wooden table. Yeah, he got why Aziraphale thought that, but after thousands of years of friendship and drinking and favors and a couple rescues, Crowley kind of thought he was being a little obtuse. But this was the same person (angel, whatever) who said they weren’t friends just last month. The cognitive dissonance was strong, but he didn’t want Aziraphale getting the wrong idea. But why? It wasn’t like he could actually act upon his love. He had a reputation to uphold, too, and letting an angel know he had a soft side went against that. Everyone else in the pub was ignoring them entirely. No one was listening in. No one had to know they had this conversation. If Aziraphale was going to judge him, Crowley wanted him to be working with accurate information and not Heaven’s bullshit.

And a part of him, deep down, wanted Aziraphale to know he was loved.

But he had to be careful. Just hint at the truth until it got too dangerous. Crowley mumbled, “But I can.”

“Pardon?”

“I can,” he said, only a little louder.

“Can…? Love?” He laughed a little, incredulously. “Why, no.” 

Crowley raised his eyes. “Who told you that? Heaven?”

Aziraphale’s cheeks were pink compared to the white of his hair and collar. His lips parted. “But, demons are the opposite of angels, and we’re beings of love, so naturally, demons would be unable to feel or detect it.”

“I can’t detect it, I’ll give you that,” he said, and that was true. He didn’t feel like getting into another disagreement on the similarities and differences between angels and demons, so he said, “I can only speak for myself, not any other creature of Hell. So. All I know is how I feel. Or. Can feel.” Fuck. Maybe this was a bad idea.

Aziraphale’s face was falling. Why was he sad? “You...can?”

Crowley couldn’t look at him. His eyes went back to the wooden table. “D’you really think I can’t?” he asked quietly. _After I made this play a hit for you? After I rescued you and made you laugh over the years?_

The chatter of the patrons filled the silence.

“How long have you known you can?” Aziraphale asked slowly, selecting his words carefully.

Crowley smiled ruefully. “Oh, can’t say for certain.” Lie. “Thousands of years.”

“Thousands of…” Aziraphale trailed off. “But how did you know it was love? Could you be mistaken?” he asked apprehensively. 

Crowley met his gaze, not for the first time resenting the label that was smacked upon him when he was thrown out of Heaven for asking questions he didn’t know were forbidden. He looked at this angel that owned his heart, and once again thought of bringing him to the stars, away from Heaven and Hell and humanity who would never understand. “There’s no mistaking it.” His palms were sweaty. 

“But how? You...lo-loved a person, or a thing, like, like fine wine?”

That was a fair question, since he did technically love a variety of things on earth. To be precise, he said, “A someone.”

“How can you be certain?” Aziraphale persisted, looking increasingly intrigued and alarmed.

Crowley’s heart felt like it was being squeezed. “Because it never stopped,” he murmured, voice coming out less steady than he wanted.

Aziraphale blinked rapidly, sitting back. He looked away and cleared his throat. “Excuse me. I believe I have a thing, er, that I must attend to.” He got up.

Crowley watched Aziraphale walk away, maneuver his way past the humans, and leave the pub. There was a deep, pulsing ache in his chest. He had said too much, challenged Aziraphale’s worldview too greatly for one sitting. Did he know Crowley loved him, specifically, or was the idea of a demon loving enough to make him run? Both were possible, but the latter would certainly be enough to ruffle his feathers. Crowley drank down the last of his beer and miracled more into the jug. He let his mind wander to thoughts he only allowed when he had alcohol in his system. He thought of holding Aziraphale’s face in his hands, his thumbs stroking over the roundness of his cheeks. He imagined pressing their lips together softly, pouring all of the love from his heart into Aziraphale’s mouth. He wanted to worship his pale skin until it was pink from his kisses. He hadn’t gotten the point of physical affection at first, but he yearned to experience it with Aziraphale so very badly. A drunken human kissed him once, and he hadn’t been able to stop imagining what it would be like with Aziraphale since then. He wanted to be downright fucking disgustingly _sappy._ He wanted to nuzzle their noses together and pet those feather-soft curls during their kisses. He wanted to love him with these bodies they had been given, and be at the mercy of Aziraphale’s gentle hands. He wanted to lose control in front of him, and only him, and let himself cry out words of love he was told to abhor. He wanted to curl up afterwards in Aziraphale’s arms and sleep the rest of the day away, ignoring assignments and the fear of Hell’s wrath. He wanted Aziraphale, in turn, to feel safe enough to fall asleep with him again, and he wanted to hold him against his chest as he snored softly and his button nose twitched in his sleep.

Fucking Jesus-tap-dancing-Christ, he had it _bad_.

Crowley drank more. He needed to be drunk for a long time.

* * *

They didn’t talk again until 1793. Crowley was in France, enjoying his holiday after Hell thought he started all this head-cutting business, when he felt a familiar alarm bell in his essence. Enough time had passed for the wound to have healed, so of course Crowley rescued Aziraphale from the Bastille in 1793. But their conversation almost felt like flirting.

“ _Oh_ ,” Aziraphale looked away from him, back again, then away, and then back again. “Good _Lord_.” His tone was a combination of disapproval, amusement, and intrigue.

 _Like what you see?_ No, he couldn’t say that. They went for crepes after, and Crowley watched him fondly from behind his glasses. The executioner’s outfit wasn’t Aziraphale’s style at all, but it kind of looked cute on him, especially the hat. That was the one good thing about the snake eyes; his need for glasses meant he could openly gaze at Aziraphale all he wanted. It was almost worth being slightly colorblind, and the whole bit with humans being disgusted by him. It wasn’t easy, having a reminder of the Fall you didn’t even mean to do permanently etched into your eyeballs. He idly wondered if Aziraphale was uncomfortable with his eyes and what they represented. He didn’t ask, though. He didn’t know what he would do with an answer either way.

“You should get home, angel,” Crowley told him after lunch, “before you almost get your head chopped off again.”

Aziraphale sighed. “It was rather foolish of me, wasn’t it? I should be on my way.” He licked his lips. “Thank you again, Crowley. You saved me a lot of trouble.”

“Don’t let anyone hear you thanking me,” he muttered.

“Yes, of course. I’ll see you later.”

In 1800, Crowley brought Aziraphale flowers and chocolates when he opened his shop just to see his face light up.

“Oh, my,” Aziraphale beamed, after Crowley oh-so discreetly prevented him from being recalled to Heaven. “Crowley, we almost got in serious trouble!” he put on a frown.

Crowley rattled the box. “Come on, they’re your favorite,” he tempted.

Aziraphale took the box and opened it, and his face softened further. “You’re right.”

Crowley suppressed a big, dopey smile. “Mmm. Course I am. I know you.”

A strange mix of emotions entered his eyes, like he was trying to look uncomfortable, but couldn’t bring himself to. “That you do. Thank you.”

“Don’t,” he said, clipped.

Aziraphale took the flowers, sniffing them, a blissful smile on his face. His reaction to receiving flowers was as wonderful as Crowley imagined. “This was very kind of you,” Aziraphale breathed.

“Shut it!” Crowley hissed, and thought _If only you knew I just kept you here on earth, with me. What would you say?_

Aziraphale smiled a little brighter. “Fine, if you insist. I won’t tell you how grateful I am for you.”

A panicked pause, on both of their parts.

“F-for the gifts, I mean,” Aziraphale clarified with pink cheeks, and distracted himself by getting a vase for the flowers.

Crowley’s pulse pounded. He didn’t expect to be loved in return, but little exchanges like that, sprinkled throughout the centuries, rattled around in his head for years. Aziraphale, deep down, knew they were friends, but denied it time and time again due to fear. _If,_ and that was a big _if,_ Aziraphale ever felt something more, then it would take at least double the time for him to admit that.

Crowley’s optimistic side told him that maybe, just maybe, one day, Aziraphale would develop feelings for him, and _maybe,_ one day, he would admit it. Maybe he would admit it if they were away from their bosses and walls with ears, up in the stars.

“‘Fraternizing’?!” Crowley blurted out 62 years later, feeling like he got punched in the gut.

“Well, whatever it is you wish to call it,” Aziraphale said in exasperation.

 _Friendship. Companionship. Love._ But no, as much as he understood where Aziraphale was coming from, he wouldn’t tolerate this. Not after asking for something so important. Crowley loved him, but he wasn’t a masochist. He wasn’t going to stick around and be told they weren’t even friends when Aziraphale wouldn’t even do this for him, after all they’d been through, after centuries of the Arrangement. “I have plenty of people to ‘fraternize’ with, angel,” he glared over the top of his glasses. “I don’t need you!”

Aziraphale was furious. “And the feeling is mutual!” he bit out. “Obviously!” He threw the paper in the pond, where it caught fire.

Crowley was upset, but it wasn’t just about the holy water. He saw this as a major setback in their relationship, and it had already been millennia...He crawled into bed, his heart feeling like it was bleeding. Love hurt worse when the other person wasn’t willing to go an inch, but you were willing to go a mile. It wasn’t like Crowley was the only one risking his safety with their relationship; that was the whole bloody point of the holy water! But no, Aziraphale just denied they were similar again and denied their friendship _again._ Crowley loved him, but fuck, he had limits, and as much as he hated to admit it, he was capable of being hurt. It was AD 1862, and Aziraphale downplayed their friendship. How long until he even entertained the thought of being with Crowley? Another millennium?

 _“It would destroy you!”_ he cried, distraught.

Crowley wasn’t an idiot. Aziraphale cared about him. He knew he did. But he wasn’t a saint, literally, and couldn’t help but lose his patience from time to time. If he had to wait centuries for their relationship to progress, he might as well speed it up with a nap.

* * *

He only slept 79 years. _Fuck._ He was going for a full century. But his temper cooled during his nap. Crowley couldn’t force Aziraphale to do anything, so being angry was useless.

So of course he saved him from the Nazis. Why wouldn’t he have done so? He didn’t want Aziraphale to get _shot,_ for Satan’s sake. Yeah, the church burned his feet like fucking crazy. But he dealt with worse in his life. His feet would heal.

But afterwards, in the car, was another Moment.

Aziraphale held the bag of books. His eyes were soft, his lips were parted into a ghost of a grin, and the lines were smoothed from his face. His expression was, well, confusing. It looked like he was pleased, but a little surprised, too.

Crowley realized they were staring at each other. His feet burned. “Um. You all right?”

He blinked languidly. “I’m very well, dear boy, thank you.”

 _Dear boy._ He never said that before. Crowley’s stomach swooped. “Nugh, okay,” he turned to the wheel, the endearment playing over and over in his head. They pulled up to the bookshop. “Here you are.”

Aziraphale’s face had that same expression. Was it...fond?

Crowley didn’t breathe. His feet were throbbing.

“You really came through tonight,” he said softly.

He remembered corporations could die, so he breathed. “I guess.”

Aziraphale looked down at his lap, fingers drumming on the handle of the bag. “It’s been awhile, hasn’t it? Would you...like to come in? For a drink.”

Crowley remembered he had to breathe out, too. “Okay,” he exhaled. But when he got out of the car and landed back on his feet, he hissed in pain.

The beautiful expression was gone as Aziraphale grew alarmed. “Crowley?”

“Just open up the door,” he grimaced. “I need to sit down.” He grunted in pain as he made his way through the shop and flopped down in the nearest armchair. He bit his bottom lip and snapped his fingers so a stool appeared in front of the chair, and he propped his feet on top of them. He hadn’t been in a church in a long time and forgot how badly consecrated ground hurt. It was worth it, but it was holy power, so he couldn’t heal himself. It was going to be annoying keeping off his feet for a few weeks. He didn’t like turning into a snake in general, because he always worried he would forget how to turn human-shaped again, but he knew from trying it in the past that the burns would just transfer onto his belly, making slithering just as painful, so it was pointless.

Aziraphale had shut the door and shed his coat and hat. He put the bag of books down on a table and was in front of Crowley, looking worried. The last time he saw each other, he had thick sideburns that were fashionable at the time, but they were gone and he was back to his hairstyle he’d worn since Eden. He was dressed in his usual light, cream colors. Damn, Crowley had missed him. Aziraphale’s eyes dropped to his feet on the stool. “You were hopping around in the church. I should have known the burns would last,” he said sympathetically. “Crowley, why did you put yourself through such harm?”

 _Are you kidding? I adore you._ “Shush,” Crowley hissed, taking off his hat. “It’s whatever. You would’ve been shot in the head, so. Just be a good angel and get me a drink.”

Aziraphale pursed his lips, but did as he was told. He came back with a glass of whiskey and Crowley gratefully took it. He let the liquid burn his throat, a good distraction from his burned feet.

Aziraphale ran a hand through his white curls, an unconscious, nervous gesture that tugged on Crowley’s heartstrings. He bit his plump pink lip in worry. “Do your feet truly burn you so?” he asked, radiating concern.

Crowley shrugged, even as one blister throbbed like a motherfucker. Being a demon meant downplaying pain. No one could know you were suffering, or they would jeer and make it worse. “It’ll pass. Just gimme a few minutes.” More like a few weeks.

Aziraphale had his hands behind his back, worried eyes studying him.

Crowley pushed his glasses higher up his nose.

“Perhaps I can help,” he said. “It’s the least I can do. With the books, and whatnot.”

Crowley never had anyone try to heal his pain in any way, and he wasn’t really emotionally prepared for it, not tonight, especially not by the love of his life. His fantasies always involved doting on Aziraphale, not the other way around. This put him in a more vulnerable position, which was fucking disconcerting. _He’s just trying to help, you weirdo,_ he mentally scolded himself. He took a sip of his drink. He needed to be less sober for this. He almost choked when he realized Aziraphale was rolling up his sleeves, pale forearms on display.

Aziraphale’s shoulders were set in determination. He rubbed his hands together. “Remove your shoes, please.”

Crowley carefully swallowed the mouthful of whiskey. “What?”

“No, never mind, don’t move. I’ll do it.” He snapped his fingers, and Crowley’s shoes and socks were on the floor next to the armchair. His feet had black and red scales on the top, but the soles were more human, and were raw and blistering.

Crowley downed the last of the whiskey, mainly because he was afraid his hands would start shaking and he’d spill it. “You don’t—you…” Was Aziraphale going to touch him? But he never chose to do that. Was he feeling all right? He was acting strangely since getting the books back. How did he go from not speaking to Crowley in 79 years to wanting to touch him?

Aziraphale’s Adam’s apple bobbed (the fact that it was called that never failed to make Crowley fonder of humans). “You’re injured from divine power because of me.”

“I chose to go into the church,” he choked out.

Aziraphale’s eyes turned tender. “More of a reason for me to do this, then. What are friends for?” he offered a small smile.

Crowley’s insides felt warm, but pleasantly so, unlike the agony in his feet. “My feet are snakelike and demonic, sorry. I can’t change them.”

Aziraphale’s eyes flickered down to his feet. “Not any more than your eyes.”

“Which I keep covered.”

He hesitated. “You don’t have to do that. With me.”

“I-eh-I’d rather keep the glasses on.” Nuh-uh, there was no way he was going to show his eyes like this, while his palms were sweating and his hands threatened to tremble.

“Suit yourself. I’m only saying I’m not bothered.” Aziraphale clasped his hands together, sighing. “This may hurt worse at first, but it’ll be like ripping off a bandage. The pain will cease once I’m finished.”

Crowley nodded, preparing to be touched.

Aziraphale’s hands were refreshingly cool, and they gently picked up his right foot. White light flowed from his hands, and since Crowley’s imagination never pictured Aziraphale hurting him, the divine power only healed. He would have groaned in relief, but another feeling made his breath hitch sharply instead. When he touched Aziraphale before, his essence dripped with anxiety. Now, that was still there, but there was intense affection pushing past it. It shot up Crowley’s body and filled his heart, and he never felt anything remotely like this. It was mad. It was overwhelming. It caused his back to arch and his head to be thrown back, a strangled cry ripping from his throat. He felt someone else— _Aziraphale—_ care for him for the first time, after 5,945 lonely years.

Aziraphale thought he was in pain, so he frowned deeply and said, “I’m sorry! Almost finished this one, I promise.”

It was blissful. Crowley felt Aziraphale’s affection pushing up against his ribs, filling him to the brim. When did this happen?! When did things change? Oh, Crowley didn’t care about that right now. It was brilliant. He could get high off this feeling. Then, everything was gone, the pain and the warm blanket of Aziraphale’s essence. He was left panting and sweating, sunglasses down his nose, hand tightly gripping the whiskey glass and quivering. He openly stared at Aziraphale, lips parted, gobsmacked. He couldn’t have imagined that sensation. That was more than friendship.

Aziraphale ran a thumb down the smooth sole of his foot and nodded in satisfaction. “There.” He stood up straight and put his hands behind his back again. “How do you feel?”

 _I have absolutely no idea._ “Better,” he rasped.

He grinned. “Good. I’m sorry I hurt you, but your feet would have been burnt longer without my intervention.” 

Crowley shook his head mutely at his apology. He didn’t know what to say. Well, he did, really. _Do you know your aura changed? When did that happen? Why was it so caring and affectionate? Do you feel this for anyone else? Is it just for me? Have you forgiven me for 1862? Can I ask you for holy water again? Can I ask you to run away from this terrible war with me? Don’t you know why I always rescue you? Can’t you see I love you? Don’t you remember the pub after_ Hamlet? 

Crowley didn’t ask any of those questions, fearing it would estrange them for decades again. He didn’t trust himself to keep it all inside, though, not tonight, so he decided to leave the bookshop and spend the next week obsessing over why Aziraphale looked disappointed when he announced his departure.

That night made it clear they were still friends, which was a relief, but Crowley got the sense something else happened with Aziraphale that he couldn’t put his finger on.

* * *

And then it was 1967.

He held the thermos gingerly in his hands. After everything he said, Aziraphale gave him holy water. Even though he could get in trouble. Because he _cared._

“Should I say ‘thank you’?” he asked, genuinely lost.

Aziraphale was visibly tense. He faced straight ahead and his eyes darted around nervously. “Better not.” He had shown up in the Bentley, completely unannounced, to give Crowley the thing that could kill him in order to protect him. What a paradox. _“I’m not giving you a suicide pill,”_ Aziraphale had chastised 105 years ago.

Crowley didn’t want it for that, but now in the car, it hit him how scared that argument in 1862 made Aziraphale; Crowley certainly wouldn’t want to give him hellfire. Aziraphale was scared of losing him, so much so that he saw no other alternative after finding out about the heist and did this. It took him time, but he went against his Heavenly conscience to ensure Crowley wouldn’t die.

Was this only friendship? Was this connected to that sensation from his aura in 1941? Crowley was stunned into silence. But he couldn’t sit there and say nothing. “Sh-shall I drop you off anywhere?”

Aziraphale gave a tight smile. “No. Thank you.”

Crowley couldn’t hold back a little grunt of displeasure. This was big, and Aziraphale was leaving already? He wouldn’t verbally thank him, but he felt the need to show his gratitude, even in a small way.

Aziraphale glanced at him from out of the corner of his eye, a dismayed furrow to his brow. “Oh, don’t look so disappointed.”

He saw, then. He knew Crowley wanted him to stay.

“Perhaps one day we could, I don’t know…”

_Yes? Yes?_

“Go for a picnic,” he said with a fake smile. “Dine at the Ritz.”

Oh. That was it? Just sharing a meal was something they couldn’t even do now? “W...Why don’t we go to the Ritz now?” he asked slowly.

For a moment, Aziraphale’s eyes fluttered shut in pain. “We can’t,” he replied in a fraught whisper. “This is dangerous enough.”

It wasn’t _“I don’t want to.”_ There was an underlying desire, but Aziraphale thought fulfilling it was impossible at this point. Crowley’s heart was aching. No, he couldn’t let his deeper disappointment show. Time to redirect. “Okay, but I’ll give you a lift. Anywhere you want to go.”

Aziraphale was looking him in the eye now—or, as best he could. The sunglasses were actually coming in handy in this conversation. Aziraphale’s remorseful, melancholic gaze ran over his face. A deeper furrow crinkled in between his eyebrows. “You go too fast for me, Crowley,” he said, like it hurt to utter, like he was both weary and wary of Crowley and where he wanted to go. Without another word, he looked away and left the car, shutting the door behind him.

Each beat of his heart sent another wave of hurt through his veins. Crowley stared at the empty car seat. Nearly 6,000 years, and Aziraphale wasn’t ready for a nice dinner. He swallowed the lump in his throat, surprised he was so affected. What did he expect, for Aziraphale to disown Heaven and run into his arms? No. It was just...thousands of years, and not one dinner or picnic. How long would it take for him to be ready for that alone? How long would it take for Aziraphale to admit he had feelings for Crowley, if he really did have them? How long would it take for him to free himself of Heaven’s influence? Crowley could challenge Heaven’s propaganda in conversation, but the decision to buck Heaven was Aziraphale’s to make. 

Crowley took off his glasses and wiped his eyes, hating the moisture on his sleeve. Well. Look at the bright side, right? If Aziraphale said he was going too fast, then that meant he knew Crowley wanted to go somewhere else with their relationship. He didn’t even reject him with tired platitudes about how they were enemies. Aziraphale didn’t completely reject him at all. The subtext of his words said, _“Someday, perhaps.”_

But when would someday be? Another 5,971 years? Crowley stroked a hand over the cap of the thermos. He...he would wait. If Aziraphale wanted that much time, and there truly was something more lurking beneath the surface, Crowley would wait. Aziraphale acknowledging he wanted something more was a big step already, wasn’t it?

They had all the time in the world.

Until they didn’t.

* * *

Now, in 2019, the world was going to end tonight if they didn’t do something about it, but they lost track of the boy. Crowley wanted to save the earth and all of these horrible, brilliant humans, but if he couldn’t, he needed a plan B. He feared Hell his whole life and didn’t want to stick around to be tortured when they found out he screwed up. If the anti-Christ ended the world, then Crowley would rather run away with Aziraphale than stay and watch the destruction of humanity, or fight in a war that could get one or both of them killed. He didn’t even care about the bloody war. He teased Aziraphale about the things he would lose of Heaven won, but in reality, Crowley was never actually enthusiastic about serving Hell and Lucifer. He liked humans too much to enjoy genuine suffering. Pranking them, pissing them off, pushing them in the wrong direction and seeing what they would do? That was fun. The misery and pain that Hell told him to love so much? Nah. Never his thing.

This was why he considered himself on their own side for the majority of the earth’s history.

But Aziraphale was being fucking difficult.

So Crowley finally suggested eloping. They could be free in space. He could save them both. It was their last chance. He felt sick with worry that his day would end with a bathtub full of holy water in one way or another, and he needed Aziraphale to agree. There couldn’t be anymore waiting around. Time was not on their side.

“Go off together?” Aziraphale’s tone hardened. “Listen to yourself.”

Damn it. They didn’t have _time_ for this! “How long have we been friends? 6,000 years!” he emphasized. _You can trust me. You know you can!_

“Friends? We’re not friends!” Aziraphale denied.

Crowley lowered his arms, anger igniting in his gut. They were back to this? Now? After all this time? At this inconvenient moment?

“We are an _angel_ and a _demon._ We have nothing in common,” he insisted. “I don’t even like you!”

Crowley couldn’t tolerate this today. “You dooo! We don’t have time for this, Aziraphale! We need to act now.”

Aziraphale had started to walk away, but he turned around abruptly, hands balled into fists and coat billowing behind him. “I’m not leaving humanity to fend for itself!”

He gritted teeth. “The world will end tonight unless we find the boy. If that happens, we either fight in the war or run away. That’s it! There’s no other option!” he threw up his hands.

Aziraphale huffed out a breath and shook his head, as if in disbelief. “I’m not leaving earth with you. Not now, not ever,” he said, tone icy.

Crowley sometimes forgot how harsh he could be. “Why _not_?” he implored. “We’re friends.”

“No, we’re not! We never were. Even if I did know where the anti-Christ is, I wouldn’t tell you because we’re on opposite sides!” he shouted.

The color got sucked from Crowley’s world as his heart bled and shriveled up into a mangled ball in his chest. “You’re full of it,” he said tightly. “We’re friends. We always have been.”

His fists trembled by his sides. “No,” he said, weaker this time.

Crowley remembered a conversation on the phone they just bloody had recently. “I called you about the anti-Christ. You said you’d tell me if you knew anything because we’re friends.” He remembered that. They had been _fine_. What changed? It was something about the anti-Christ. How had Aziraphale gone from being co-godfathers with Crowley to this? 

“What changed?” Crowley asked.

His anger was turning into tormented shadows under his eyes. “Crowley. Stop.” His voice was quieter.

“Is it the archangels?” he asked, growing quieter, too. “Did they say something to you?” He remembered how uneasy Aziraphale was when Gabriel and Sandalphon visited his new shop. They definitely had the ability to put him in a mood like this.

“That’s none of your business.”

 _Yes, then._ Ok, he could work with this. “It’s the end. You don’t have to listen to them anymore. Remember when you gave away your sword? It was for Adam and Eve’s own good. Today isn’t any different.”

For a second, Aziraphale seemed conflicted and about to falter.

_Yes!_

“I won’t betray Heaven,” he said, using his insufferable holier-than-thou tone again. “I’m an angel. I must do what I’m told.”

 _No!_ Crowley was losing his mind. “You’re so stubborn, you know that? Look, I _know_ having a crisis of faith is hard, but you need to _listen_ to me,” he hissed.

That was the wrong thing to say, because Aziraphale looked like he was on the verge of a panic attack. “Crisis of faith? Don’t be ridiculous! My devotion to Heaven and Her plan is as strong as ever. Why, why would you even think otherwise? Don’t insult me so!” His rambling gave away how close to the truth Crowley was.

“You’re lying,” Crowley accused, feeling like a furious volcano about to erupt. His watch kept ticking.

“No, I’m-I’m not.”

They were getting nowhere. “Why did you even come here if you’re going to do nothing but argue and act all high and mighty?”

Aziraphale looked surprised by the question, like he didn’t know why he was here, either. “I…” His shoulders drooped. “I’m here to tell you it’s over. The Arrangement, Crowley. It’s over.”

It was like the air was made of glass, and it cracked around him. No. No. It couldn’t be the end. Not after Greece, or the Globe, or 1941, or 1967. Crowley swallowed past the tightness in his throat. He looked at his watch. They were wasting time. He needed to get him on the same page. Was Aziraphale cutting him off because he really thought Crowley was trying to tempt him? He had to prove him wrong. He had to convince him he was being genuine, which was hard when you were a demon. People always assumed you were lying. The stereotype wasn’t exactly unearned, but they knew each other for six. Thousand. Years! But the way Aziraphale looked at him, or would act when his guard was truly down...he had to know, didn’t he? He had to know he was special to Crowley. After that performance of _Hamlet_ in the pub—the way Aziraphale fled the building after Crowley kinda sorta admitted to loving someone for thousands of years—and after 1967, he had to know. He had to be lying to himself right now. But what if the archangels put doubt into his head? 

The terrifying realization came to Crowley that he would have to lay it all out, tell Aziraphale the truth about _everything,_ to snap him out of this bout of blind loyalty to Heaven. It was the only thing he could of. If he didn’t convince him, and Aziraphale never wanted to see him again, then. Well. It was his last chance to say any of this before the end. If they lived after today? Great. Fine. If not, he didn’t want all of this to go unsaid. He didn’t want to take these words to his grave.

“Aziraphale,” Crowley said, voice scratchy, taking a step forward. “I’ve given you a lot of time.”

Aziraphale flinched, like he knew what was coming.

His mangled heart rattled with anxiety. “I would’ve been fine with giving you more, if we had it.” His voice weakened. “But we don’t. You know we don’t.”

Aziraphale looked at him miserably. “Whatever you’re playing at, don’t do it.”

But the words had been pushing at his lips for thousands of years, and there was no stopping them now. “I’m not playing at anything, and I think you know that. I know I’m a demon, but when have I seriously lied to you?”

He didn’t answer.

“We can quit,” he said. “We can get away from Heaven and Hell and go where they’d never find us. There are no sides in space.” His wounded heart was on the floor of the bandstand between them.

“You know God is everywhere,” he protested. 

“But angels and demons aren’t.”

“You won’t tempt me away from my duty to earth,” he said haughtily.

“I’m not tempting you!” Crowley snapped, past his breaking point. “I _want_ to go off with you.”

Aziraphale bit his lip, wincing. “No.”

“I do,” he said desperately, aware of the ticking of his watch. He sucked in a breath. “You know I do.”

Aziraphale squeezed his hands together anxiously. “Crowley,” he said, face raw with emotion. “We can’t—”

“We can,” he insisted. “If we can’t save the world, we can be together.” He was vaguely aware of his knees shaking. “I’m not lying to you. I’m—I’ve got to tell you how much I—”

“Don’t say it,” he said softly, pleading.

“But I might never be able to. Please.” Was he begging? It felt like he was begging. He couldn’t stop now. “I can’t deal with this. What if they get their war and Heaven loses? I can’t think about what Hell will do to you.”

Aziraphale looked down at the ground, eyes squeezed shut.

“And what if Heaven wins? They won’t let me seek asylum. I’d rather not die by holy water, thanks very much. If we can’t stop this, I need you to know everything.” He didn’t want to die without saying this—or worse, have Aziraphale die without knowing he was loved.

“We shouldn’t be like this,” Aziraphale lifted his face, and his eyes were wet and the color of the dark clouds above. “This isn’t permitted. You shouldn’t want to be with me.”

Crowley had nothing to lose, here on the day of Armageddon, and Aziraphale wasn’t yelling anymore, so maybe he was getting through to him? “I don’t care what I should or shouldn’t want,” he stepped closer, wishing he could reach out to him. He was scared, but found the strength to speak. “I want to be more than friends. You know, don’t you? After that performance of _Hamlet_ , in the pub, remember?”

Aziraphale was biting his lip and breathing heavily, shoulders noticeably moving up and down. “You were drinking. You didn’t know what you were saying.”

“I knew _exactly_ what I was saying,” he countered, and it was now evident that Aziraphale _did_ know since then, but was telling himself it was a slip of the tongue for centuries. That was too much to unpack right now. Crowley was starting to feel sick. “You ran. So I gave you more time. I don’t want to do this, either,” he said, because he hated doing this, pressuring Aziraphale, but they literally had a few hours left on earth.

Aziraphale’s eyes darted around like he was looking for a way to escape. “I…”

Crowley’s bleeding heart thumped hard, taking his breath away. “I’m in love with you,” he confessed, voice broken and small even to his own ears. “You must’ve known for a long time.”

Aziraphale exhaled harshly out his mouth, shaking his head more. “No, please,” his voice shook.

Crowley never felt this close to tears in front of another being before. “I am, so much. Aziraphale, please, I’ve loved you for eons,” he reached out and grasped his hand. Instantly, intense fear from Aziraphale’s essence shot through Crowley and he staggered back with a gasp.

Aziraphale was shaking his head roughly, stepping backwards, too. “Stop,” he said faintly, agony in his eyes. “I can’t give you what you want. I can’t _do_ this _,_ Crowley,” he lamented. His face hardened. “I _won’t._ ” His voice turned to steel. “Give up your delusions. It would never work. Leave me _alone._ I don’t want to see you anymore.”

Crowley felt the blood drain from his face and ice crystallize in his veins. The logical side of his brain told him this was all a lie, but fuck, this _hurt._ If demons weren’t meant to love, then they were even less equipped for heartbreak. He knew what he felt in 1941, and he knew he wasn’t making up all those fond looks Aziraphale would give him. But Crowley was always big on choice. He confessed his love, and Aziraphale chose to reject and insult him. Not even let him down easily. They were friends for thousands of years, and apparently Aziraphale had an inkling Crowley loved him for _centuries_ , and this was how he chose to react, anyway. That was _cruel._ There was no excuse. Aziraphale wasn’t the only one with things at stake here; Crowley risked his neck for Aziraphale time and time again. He couldn’t and wouldn’t ever force him to feel the same way, but no one was forcing Aziraphale to be this mean-spirited, either. That was uncalled for. Crowley loved him so much, but he wouldn’t take this.

Crowley slid his hands into his pockets. Brewing anger threatened to crack the ice. “Do me a favor,” he muttered, monotone. “If we survive this, never say angels are nicer than demons ever again.”

Aziraphale looked like he’d been smacked across the face.

Crowley turned on his heel and left the bandstand, not looking back. He was alone. He was so alone.

* * *

And then the day got worse by Hastur threatening to kill him on the screen in the cinema. Great. Just great. Fan-fucking-tastic. Crowley grabbed his keys, but Aziraphale said he didn’t want to see him anymore. Was Crowley really going to go humiliate himself and beg an angel to run away with him, after he has his heart on his fucking sleeve? No. Yes. Well. Ok. So Crowley would go and give him one last choice. Maybe, just maybe, the conversation would be better now that Crowley was actually threatened.

Nope.

“Listen,” Crowley said, finding it hard to look at him, painfully aware that now Aziraphale _knew._ “The forces of Hell figured out it was my fault. I’ll ask one more time: run away with me? I picked out a star system, Alpha Centauri. Lots of spare planets up there. No one would even notice us.”

Aziraphale was exasperated. “Crowley, you’re being ridiculous. I-I-I’m quite certain if I could just _reach_ the right people—”

Crowley couldn’t hold back a bitter snort. “You still think there are right people? There’s just God moving in mysterious ways and not talking to any of us.”

Aziraphale nodded nervously. “Yes, well, that’s why I’m going to have a word with the Almighty, and then the Almighty will fix it.”

Crowley was gobsmacked. “That won’t happen,” he said incredulously. But it was clear this conversation was pointless. “I don’t get how someone as clever as you can be so stupid.” At this point, it was more of a genuine statement than an insult.

Pale blue eyes stared at him intently. “I forgive you.”

Crowley was past the point of caring, his wounds from the bandstand raw and festering. “I’m done waiting for you. I’m not going to sit around and wait for Hell to come. I’m leaving, and when I’m off in the stars, I won’t even _think_ about you.” He said all of this calmly and coldly.

Aziraphale’s face fell, but he said nothing.

Crowley left without another word.

* * *

He hadn’t wanted to see Aziraphale’s face again so soon, but Crowley wanted to know where the anti-Christ was. But the shop had been up in flames when he arrived, and Crowley couldn’t sense him at all. It was like Aziraphale was wiped out from the universe. The smoke burned Crowley’s throat as he screamed his name, but he was _gone_.

Now, he was in the Bentley, cradling the book to his chest, tears rolling down his face. He was soaked from the blast of the hose. 

“What I said,” he rasped to the air, his voice hoarse from shouting. “The last thing I said to him was awful.” Why did it have to end like that? His shoulders shook as he cried. “I didn’t mean it. I was just angry.” But Aziraphale burned to death thinking Crowley didn’t forgive him. “Why couldn’t he love me?” he asked no one, pathetically. No, no, he was thinking and feeling too much. He needed to go get smashed. He had no idea where the boy was, and the love of his life was dead. Crowley wanted to spend his last hours on earth numb. He was a failure.

* * *

The thunder cracked, and Crowley’s heart stopped. “Aziraphale,” he breathed. He couldn’t believe his eyes, which were filled with tears. He wiped them away, taking off his sunglasses. “Are you here?” he squinted.

“Good question,” the wavy image of Aziraphale said. “Not certain. Never done this before.” He paused, mouth working to form words silently. “Did you go to Alpha Centauri?”

“Nuh-ah-uh, changed my mind. Stuff happened.” _I lost the love of my life._ No, no...he couldn’t say that. So he didn’t say anything.

“Oh. Well, good. Erm, listen, back at my bookshop, there’s a book I need you to get.”

Crowley was drunk, and couldn’t suppress the soft, gravelly _“ohhh”_ that escaped him. “Look, your bookshop’s not there anymore.”

“Oh?” 

“I’m really sorry, it burned down,” he revealed, voice quivering.

Aziraphale’s face was unreadable. “All of it?” he raised his eyebrows.

“Ye-mm-mm, ye-mm-mm, yeah,” he stammered. Yeah, okay, he had a shit ton of mixed emotions running through him right now, but he knew how much Aziraphale adored the shop and every single book inside, and he genuinely felt sorry for him. “What-what was the book?”

“The one the young lady with the bicycle left behind. _The Nice and Accurate Prophecies of_ —”

“ _Agnes Nutter_!” Crowley exclaimed, grabbing the book off his lap. “Yes, I took it! Look, souvenir!” 

“Oh, you have it?” Aziraphale asked excitedly. “Look inside, I made notes. It has the boy’s name, address, everything else, I worked it all out.”

Hope was back, and Crowley felt alive again. Aziraphale was here and there were directions to the boy’s home. He could still save the earth. There was still time.

“Crowley?”

He looked up from the book. “Yeah?”

Aziraphale’s features were pulled tight. “We must focus on Armageddon right now, but I want to say I’m terribly sorry. For everything.”

Crowley wasn’t expecting that, and he wasn’t prepared to deal with it right now. “Like you said, we need to focus on Armageddon. Tell me where I need to go.”

Aziraphale nodded. “Yes, all right.”

* * *

The world was saved, and it had very little to do with them, after all. Crowley stopped time to give an eleven year-old boy some encouraging words, but that was about it. Children defeated three of the four Horsemen, and one told off Lucifer, and that was that. Honestly, Crowley shouldn’t have expected it to go any other way. He was at the airbase, just trying to process everything as Aziraphale talked to the woman who came with Sergeant Shadwell.

“Hey.”

Crowley turned around, and saw Adam standing there. “Hello. Aren’t you in trouble with your earthly father?”

“Yeah, but that’s not new,” he smiled bashfully. “He said I can say goodbye to my friends, but I wanted to say something to you, too.”

“Oh yeah?” he raised an eyebrow. “And what’s that?”

“The angel has been thinking about you the whole time,” Adam said.

Crowley blinked behind his sunglasses. “Oh. Uh. Yeah?”

“Yeah.” He frowned. “He seems really sad, actually. Did you two fight?”

“Kind of,” he muttered.

“Well, he’s really sorry about it. I’m just telling you because I can tell you really care about him, too.”

Crowley absolutely did not blush in front of a human child. “Huh-how can you tell?”

“I just can,” he shrugged. “But it’s mutual, so.” He made a face. “Ew, you wanna kiss him?”

He spluttered. “Keep your voice down!”

“Sorry. Adults are just gross, is all.”

Crowley sighed and looked over his shoulder at Aziraphale. The world was saved, but he wasn’t completely happy. The words from earlier truly cut deep. They never fought like that before, and it was so personal. 

“You’re still sad,” Adam said.

Crowley didn’t like how much power this child had, but at least he turned out to be an okay kid, after all. “Yeah.”

“Why?”

He looked back at Adam before Aziraphale caught him staring. “He said things I know he didn’t mean, but it still sucked, you know? I mean, I’m a cool demon and all, so not that I _care_ , but.”

Adam looked unimpressed. “Yeah, sure, whatever. But he’ll make it up to you, anyway. He was just scared.”

Crowley laughed a little. “You know that for a fact, do you?”

“Yep,” he said casually.

“Adam!” Mr. Young shouted.

Adam looked like a deflated balloon. “Well, I’ve got to go now. Hang in there, Mr. Demon.”

“It’s Crowley.”

“Okay. Hang in there, Crowley.”

Aziraphale’s apparent guilt was on his mind as they waited for the bus. Crowley was glad to hear he felt sorry about his actions, but his heart wouldn’t stop hurting. The argument, and then thinking he was dead, and then the world almost ending was too much bloody stress for one day.

The bus came, and Aziraphale said, “I suppose I should have him drop me off at the bookshop.”

Oh no. Crowley turned to him. “It burned down,” he said gently. “Remember?”

Aziraphale’s eyes filled with tears and he turned away quickly, nodding and pressing his lips together.

Fuck it all, Crowley couldn’t leave him with no place to go, despite the fact that he wasn’t okay yet. “You can stay at my place, if you’d like.”

Aziraphale turned to him, eyes wide. “After everything I said?” he asked roughly.

Crowley looked at the approaching bus. He nodded. “Just come on. We have a prophecy to decipher.”

Now seated on the bus, the air was heavy with tension. They were the only ones on the bus, besides the driver. He adjusted his glasses. What a fucking day. He had no idea where to begin. “Aziraphale,” he said, looking out the window.

“Yes?”

“What changed your mind today? Why did you suddenly tell me all about where Adam was?”

Aziraphale’s sigh was deep and long. “Because I finally got how wrong Heaven was through my thick skull.”

“But why?”

“I went to my shop and called upon a higher authority. It wasn’t the Almighty. You were right. I was foolish for thinking She would talk to me,” he said sadly. “It was the Metatron. He’s like God’s spokesperson, more or less. I heard straight from his mouth that Heaven wanted the war. I so believed they wanted to save humanity, just like I did, that it took me until the very last moment to realize the truth. When he went away, I called you. I finally knew I didn’t want to be obedient to those more than happy to treat humans as collateral damage.”

Crowley absorbed this information, watching the trees go by as the bus drove. Aziraphale wanted to believe Heaven was good as they said they were. He didn’t really blame him for that. He remembered lying on the ground as he sobbed from the pain of his wings being burnt to a crisp, and a part of him insisted God wouldn’t do this to him, and that She would raise him up and heal his wounds. She never did. Aziraphale never experienced that abandonment before.

Well, maybe not until today.

“We are on our own side,” Aziraphale said beside him. “I’m sorry I denied it. I was frightened.”

Crowley still couldn’t look at him. “I know you were.” He felt humiliated, though, from offering his heart on a silver platter and having it thrown into the rubbish. He understood the reasons behind Aziraphale’s actions, but that didn’t make it hurt any less. He spent millennia being as patient and understanding as he could, but maybe he was susceptible to Heaven’s rhetoric about the kindness of angels, too, because he pictured Aziraphale rejecting him, but not that badly and when it mattered most. “So. About tomorrow.”

“Yes,” he said, sounding disappointed. “Back to that problem.”

Right before they got to Mayfair, they came up with their plan, and switched in Crowley’s flat. They spent the whole night imitating each other’s physical and verbal mannerisms. The next day, their plan went off without a hitch, thank Someone. 

They were in St. James’ Park now, and Crowley was happy to finally be free of Hell, but there was still a painful twist to his chest when he looked at Aziraphale. He didn’t know if he would ever forget about Aziraphale rejecting him the way he did during that moment of crisis.

“How about we go to the Ritz?” Aziraphale asked with a smile.

Crowley sat up straight on the bench, and braced himself. “No, I’m not really in the mood, thanks.”

“Oh,” the smile was gone instantly. “But. We have a reason to celebrate. I just thought you’d like that.”

Crowley pushed himself off the bench and stuffed his hands into his pockets. He was too tired to go on pretending. The apocalypse eroded away all of his strength. “I can’t act like none of that happened, Aziraphale. And you know what I’m talking about,” he said with no venom, but exhaustion.

Aziraphale was staring up at him glumly. “I wasn’t planning on ignoring it, to the contrary. We’re free now, and I know Heaven was wrong about Armageddon and what’s truly right and good. That changes everything. They don’t have a single say over what I do now.”

Crowley smiled hollowly. “So you’re liberated now. I’m glad. Really. I know how much control they had over you.”

He was ashamed. “I was a fool.”

“Kinda.” That joke fell flat. “I mean, I get it. Trust me, I do.”

“So then,” he started hesitantly, “what’s the issue?”

Crowley shook his head, feeling empty. “Yesterday was brutal. I know how hard it is to go through a crisis of faith and to want to desperately believe God’s listening. I do. That’s why I waited 6,000 years to say anything, and I only did it because it was the end of the world. But.” He swallowed. “Y’know. It was a lot.”

Aziraphale was horrified, his jaw trembling. “Oh, goodness, I truly hurt you, didn’t I?”

Crowley thought that maybe a public park wasn’t the best place for this conversation, but oh well. “Yeah, to be honest.”

He swallowed audibly. “I’m so terribly sorry.”

“I know you are. But,” he shrugged, “it still kinda hurts.” He never seriously lied to him and he wasn’t starting now.

Aziraphale’s lower lip wobbled slightly.

Crowley’s heart tore at the sight of it. Even after all of this, he didn’t like seeing Aziraphale upset.

“What can I do to make up for it?” Aziraphale asked sincerely. “Please tell me. I’ll do anything.”

Crowley had been thinking about this all day. The answer was simple. He didn’t want Aziraphale to go beating himself up over a fear and insecurity he knew all too well. This wasn’t really about what Aziraphale could do, but in a sick turn of events, Crowley was the one who needed time. “Give me time and space,” he said.

Aziraphale nodded. “Okay,” he said, resigned. “How long?”

“I dunno. A few hours? A day? I’ll let you know.” 

Aziraphale resembled a kicked puppy, but he didn’t attempt to argue. “All right, as you wish. But Crowley, please know that nothing I said yesterday had to do with _you_ and everything to do with my cowardice. I never felt any ill will towards you.”

“I know.” He did. It was good to hear, and helped the ball of pain in his chest a little, but not significantly, not yet. Emotions were weird, he concluded. He understood why Aziraphale acted that way on an intellectual level, but it didn’t affect the stabbing pain in his abdomen.

“And,” Aziraphale said quickly, like he was afraid Crowley would leave before he said it, “part of why I was so upset yesterday because I _did_ know how you feel, but I wished you didn’t, for your sake.”

“My sake?” he asked in confusion.

“I knew I couldn’t give you what you wanted,” Aziraphale said wretchedly. “The guilt ate me alive for _centuries_. I wished you would simply get over me and be happy.”

Crowley looked away at a patch of grass behind the bench. “If I’d gotten over you, how would you have felt?”

“Upset for my sake, but happy for yours,” he answered immediately. 

Crowley ran a hand through his hair. “I understand why you said what you did, but I just…” Oh Satan, it was so stupid to say.

“Yes?” he pressed him.

“I wish you would’ve let me down easy,” he said with a self-deprecating laugh.

But his blue eyes turned wet, and he had to turn and blink away the moisture. “Me too,” he said under his breath. “Take as much time as you need. I’ll wait. It’s only fair.”

Crowley wanted to bury his face into his chest and be held, but it was too fresh. “Right. I’ll...I’ll call. Sometime.”

Aziraphale folded his hands atop his lap and looked down at them. “I love you, Crowley,” he admitted in a strained whisper.

Crowley’s pulse fluttered and his stomach cramped. The ice which encased his heart began to thaw. But pain remained; he still needed time to lick his wounds and internalize these words, and not the insults from yesterday. He had suspected Aziraphale’s true feelings, but never knew for sure until now. Those three words were a frequent subject of his dreams, literally. 

“Thank you,” Crowley said, voice near a whisper. And so he left the park. He didn’t go and sleep like he did in 1862. He just walked around. He let his mind go over everything, replay each moment. He stopped occasionally to sit on benches, in pubs, and on buses when his legs got tired, but he kept walking. He vaguely noticed the sky changing colors, and surmised he was walking around probably for a few days. All of the times Aziraphale denied their friendship and ran away were playing through his mind. That those times resulted in him angrily rejecting Crowley, choosing fear and self-preservation above all else, probably shouldn’t have surprised and upset him as much as it did. He loved Aziraphale because it made him feel good, and he thought he was okay with waiting millennia for anything in return, but that changed after an explicit confession. It was one thing to kinda-sorta hint and make heart eyes at Aziraphale from behind his glasses, and another to confess his love openly and beg to run away together. 

Pretending they both didn’t know something more was going on between them was easier to do than brushing off such a strong rejection. He supposed a part of him thought that if he were open and honest, Aziraphale wouldn’t say no, but that went against all evidence. Crowley was always an optimist, but maybe he was a little naive when it came to this situation, too.

Upon reflection, the fact that Aziraphale did go and fall in love with him was pretty big, wasn’t it? Aziraphale must have been told his entire life that loving someone like Crowley was completely and utterly unangelic and wrong, but he did it anyway. Crowley was told the same thing from his ex-side, more or less. He couldn’t picture the angels being allowed to love anyone, let alone a demon. Aziraphale loved a lot of things, though: books, tea, wine, food, fancy clothes, music, and...him. 

_“I love you, Crowley.”_

One day after leaving his side, Aziraphale said those forbidden words. An existence of Heaven getting inside his head couldn’t stop him from breaking the ultimate rule and loving one of the Fallen. At the heart of it all, he was always the same angel who disobeyed God and gave away his flaming sword. It just took him until the final moment to get to the spot where Crowley always waited for him, but he got there, in the end. He broke free of his fear and the toxic teachings of his kin. Aziraphale fought thousands of years of intimidation and brainwashing, and loved him. 

Crowley stopped walking. He was on the pavement, but wasn’t sure exactly where he was. It was night, but he could see in the dark, so he hadn’t noticed. He felt more ice melt away from his heart.

Aziraphale’s first instinct when he finally broke free was to go to _Crowley_.

He always knew Heaven was unkind to Aziraphale, and he saw the culmination of that firsthand when he wore his body. Heaven tried to murder him for interfering with their plan. If they had known he was friends with Crowley, they definitely would have done more than send a strongly-worded note. If Heaven found out he loved the Damned, they would have killed him. Once again, Heaven proved to be not much better than Hell. They insulted and demeaned him, and must have done so forever. Yet, Aziraphale still tried to be kind and genuinely good. That wasn’t easy; Crowley knew all too well how tempting it was to give into cynicism. But Aziraphale never had. He didn’t have the eternal smugness of the archangels which reassured them they were constantly right; Aziraphale fretted over doing the wrong thing since the day they met. Even with Heaven telling him following their will was righteous and good, Aziraphale still had his doubts and disobeyed from time to time, choosing to go with his gut when it mattered most, even if it took him a lot of time. He chose to love humans, and in spite of the danger, he _chose Crowley anyway_. 

In addition, it dawned upon Crowley that his true anger was at their entire situation, not really Aziraphale himself. It wasn’t bloody fair that God gave them hearts that could fall in love and forbade their relationship. Their situation was wrong. It hurt them both deeply and badly. If Heaven and Hell weren’t so caught up in nonsense about sides, then they could have been free to love ages ago. There wouldn’t have been a reason for Aziraphale to have been paralyzed by fear for millennia. 

That situation was over.

The weight on his shoulders lifted. Crowley wanted to see Aziraphale. He let himself hurt for a little while, but he wasn’t the only one who experienced pain. And, damn it, Crowley thought he lost Aziraphale forever just the other day. He knew the inescapable agony of thinking the love of his life was dead, but it was a misunderstanding. Their relationship ended when Aziraphale rejected his offer to go to Alpha Centauri, with Crowley thinking there was no way they had the time to fix anything. However, they got a second chance. The world was reset, as was their circumstances; they were an angel and demon roaming earth, but now without anyone breathing down their necks. Demons never got second chances, but Crowley had.

Crap, what the hell was he doing?! The love of his life was alive, safe, and told him he felt the same way, and here Crowley was, alone and feeling sorry for himself. No. Enough of that. He needed Aziraphale, and he realized Aziraphale needed him just as much. Crowley remembered the overwhelming anxiety his essence carried throughout most of history, and his heart swelled when it dawned on him that he could finally do something about it. 

He wasn’t completely okay, but he wanted to talk it out with Aziraphale. They spent enough time running away. 

Besides, breaking away from Heaven was not unlike fleeing a cult, and Aziraphale had just done so a few days ago. He probably felt vulnerable, overwhelmed, and lost. Crowley couldn’t leave him like that.

Crowley snapped his fingers and was in Aziraphale’s shop in an instant. It took power and it made him feel tired, especially after walking, but he didn’t want to get back here the human way. His eyes adjusted to the lamplight and he took off his glasses, blinking. It was night, so there were no customers. He looked around the bookshop, remembering when it was burning right down to a crisp. He himself grin and inhale the familiar, homey scent of the shop. That meant breathing in dust from books, and Crowley’s nose twitched before he sneezed.

There were sounds coming from the back of the shop, and then Aziraphale emerged from behind a large bookcase. His eyes lit up, but there was a sad downturn to his eyebrows. “ _Crowley_ ,” he said, like he was the most wonderful thing in the world. His expression was of simultaneous delight and disbelief. He walked closer to stand in front of him, hands folded behind his back.

Crowley’s mind was in the past, when the shop was burning and he was yelling out Aziraphale’s name in despair. He lurched forward, body moving on its own accord, and pulled Aziraphale into a tight hug, the first one they ever shared, and the first he ever gave to anyone.

If touching Aziraphale’s hand made him feel his aura, this was fifty times more intense. Shock, relief, befuddlement, and that same old anxiety shot through Crowley’s veins.

“O-oh,” Aziraphale squeaked.

Crowley fought past his growing blush and hugged him tighter. He thought he lost Aziraphale after being so harsh to him, but he was here, and they loved each other. They loved each other. _Please don’t run. Please, please, please._

“You’ve returned,” Aziraphale said, stunned. He didn’t seem to know what to do with his arms. He tentatively settled his hands on Crowley’s forearms.

“Did you think I wouldn’t?” Crowley asked. _Holy shit, I’m actually hugging him. He’s hugging me, too. Sorta. He’s so warm and soft. He smells like cocoa. He’s like a marshmallow. Okay, I’m losing it._

“Not so soon,” he said. “Rem-member when you asked me for holy water? We didn’t speak for almost 80 years after that.”

Crowley frowned. “Did you think I’d be that long?”

Aziraphale was wriggling in his arms. “Perhaps longer, frankly, considering the circumstances.”

Oh jeez, he really prepared himself for Crowley not to talk to him again for decades? “No. I’m tired of us being apart and wasting time, Aziraphale.” Hugging felt so good, but Crowley felt how anxious he was, and feared he overstepped his boundaries. He let go. “Sorry,” he put his hands into his pockets, blushing slightly. “Um, I shoulda asked first.”

Aziraphale shook his head. “No, it’s...it’s all right.” He fiddled with the ring on his pinky finger. “I do hope you didn’t feel pressured to return. I would understand if you left right now.”

“No, I came back because I wanted to.” He tried smirking, hoping his small joke would land. “You can’t get rid of me now.”

Aziraphale didn’t return his smile. “But why? How could you want to see me? I’ve been so terrible to you.”

Crowley got the impression he wasn’t the only one with self-loathing issues, but that was the point, wasn’t it? They were both screwed up from Heaven and Hell, but they could have each other. Blowing a breath out of his mouth, Crowley’s hand shook as he smoothed back his fringe, failing to play it cool. “I’ve loved you for thousands of years. Bit pointless to stop now, yeah?”

Aziraphale’s features pulled down in sorrow. “Oh...I’ve never deserved you,” he said, voice trembling.

Crowley shook his head. “No, don’t say that. I did a lot of thinking. Our bosses, or ex-bosses, screwed with our heads a lot. But we’re the only ones on earth who can understand what we’ve gone through. Why can’t we just—work on this together?” 

Aziraphale sniffed. “I would like that very much. I just can’t believe you’re willing to see me again so soon. Thank you.”

“Don’t thank me,” he said automatically. “Let’s act like humans and talk for once.”

“All right. Let’s sit down.” Aziraphale locked up the shop with a snap of his fingers, and they went to sit on opposite sides of the sofa in the back. He sat up rigidly, his spine straight, looking at Crowley anxiously. Before Crowley could get a word in, Aziraphale said, “I’m awfully sorry. I need to say that right now. I’ve done a lot of thinking, too, and there was no excuse for my behavior.” 

This wasn’t an easy conversation, not at all, but Crowley was determined to have it. “How long have you known? Since _Hamlet_?”

Aziraphale averted his gaze. “Yes.”

“So hundreds of years,” Crowley said, feeling embarrassed all over again. So he’d truly worn his heart on his sleeve for hundreds of years. That was a lot to process.

“Indeed,” he said, tone filled with remorse. “As I said, the guilt ate me alive since then. Deep down, I always knew you weren’t a liar, so when you told me in the pub, I took you for your word right away. However, I persisted in my denial until, well, a few days ago. I had to leave the pub then because you turned my world upside down. I was utterly shocked.”

“I can imagine,” he said with a little laugh. “I didn’t really expect you to abandon Heaven and run into my arms. But I still wanted you to know it. Dunno why. Guess it’d been building up.”

Aziraphale pressed his lips together. “It was very hard to stay away from you, knowing how you felt. And then you would rescue me, and bring me nice things, and oh, I always knew you had a sweet side, but knowing you were doing it because of love truly made me wish you would get over me and move on.”

Conveniently ignoring that part about his sweet side, Crowley said, “I couldn’t, Aziraphale. I tried to stop loving you and it didn’t work. Um,” he coughed behind his fist, “then again, I only tried for about a week, so.”

Aziraphale only looked sadder. “How long have you felt this way, Crowley?”

He kind of wished he had his glasses on. “Erm, remember the first time you fell asleep in Greece?”

“The only time,” Aziraphale corrected. “It was not long after Rome. I fell asleep on…” His expression went blank. “No.”

“Yeah,” he admitted sheepishly, ears burning.

“But that was _such_ a long time ago!” he gasped.

“Uh huh,” he said, blush spreading to his cheekbones.

“Why then?” he asked, dumbfounded.

At this point, there was no reason not to spill his heart out. It wasn’t like he had any dignity left. “I’d already liked you a lot for a long time. I always liked you, really. But then you trusted me enough to fall asleep with me—even though you were drunk, but still—and I wanted to stay with you. I wanted to hold you and take you to the stars I created and hide you away from the humans and the demons, and...I’ve...said too much, haven’t I?”

Aziraphale was the picture of melancholy. “You’ve waited _all_ this time, and what have I given you in return? I couldn’t return your feelings. I wasn’t ready,” he bemoaned.

“I never wanted to push you,” Crowley said quickly. “That wouldn’t have been right. I only wanted you to be with me if you were in it 110 percent. You’re _everything_ to me,” he confessed, “and I’d hate if I forced you into anything. I know it was harder for you than me, the whole telling authority to piss off thing. Heaven was bad to you. I saw it with my own eyes.”

“Yes, but that was still no excuse,” Aziraphale said miserably. “I _knew_ you loved me, and yet I insulted and rejected you so. I could have let you down easily, but my cowardice caused me to lash out. It was cruel. I’m such a wretched angel,” he put his face in his hands.

Crowley’s heart ached and then he was kneeling in front of Aziraphale, hands on either side of him on the edge of the sofa “No, you’re not. You asked what you’ve given me in return? You’re the only one I can really laugh with. You’re my only real companion.” He felt the old emotional wounds from his Fall ache. “Heaven never wanted me,” he said quietly. “Hell doesn’t let you make friends. Humans can’t understand us. You’re someone I can talk to. You make me think twice when I’m about to drown a duck at the park. You...” His heart was thumping as a thought smacked him in the back of the head. “I’m better than I was.”

He lifted his head. “What do you mean?”

Crowley blinked, the thought solidifying in his mind. All of those times he let himself be soft and dote upon Aziraphale prevented him from becoming the cynical demon Hell wanted. He was never exactly like them, and Fell for a lesser reason than a lot of them, but years of pain and torture in Hell had started to harden him, but in Eden, Aziraphale was the one who rescued him, and neither of them knew it. “Loving you made me better.”

Aziraphale’s breath was harsh and not unlike a small sob. “I deserve no credit for your kindness. I...Oh no, I’m making this about me. It should be about you. I’m sorry. I’m lost, Crowley. I keep making a mess of us. I never _wanted_ to hurt you. Tell me how to do right by you.”

Crowley reached out and took his hands, and he wasn’t surprised when a wave of misery passed through him. “This,” he hissed out. “I always felt _this_ and knew how bad you felt.”

“This?” he asked.

“You. Your essence, when we touch. It’s almost always been upset.”

Aziraphale blinked and took his hands away. “Oh dear, I thought I was hiding it better. I’m sorry.”

“Stop apologizing,” Crowley told him. How many times had Aziraphale apologized to people over the years for letting his emotions show? How many times did he suppress himself around the archangels? He wanted to soothe Aziraphale’s anxieties for years. Now he could. “I literally felt how upset and nervous you were all the time, so of course I gave you space. What kind of arsehole would I be if I didn’t? I figured out you were afraid of what caring about me meant a long time ago.”

Aziraphale folded his hands on top of his lap. “Sometimes, privately, I wished we were human so we could have been together without sides breathing down our necks. I was terrified of my love for you, but especially yours for me. I suppose...I suppose I’m unaccustomed to such attention.”

And what a fucking shame that was, if you asked Crowley. He felt that old desire to adore Aziraphale every second he could. “If it were up to me, I’d beat the crap out of those archangels,” he said lowly. “I saw how they talked to you. They made you miserable your whole life, didn’t they?”

“Yes,” he admitted in a small voice, looking down at him. “However, I have no reason to complain. You had to deal with _Hell_ , and I saw how they treated you, too.”

Crowley rubbed the back of his neck. “I think we both realized they’re not really much different from each other, eh?”

“Perhaps not,” he conceded. He sighed out of his nose. “I wish I realized it sooner. I truly don’t believe we could have been together whilst we were employed without Heaven or Hell discovering our relationship and rendering us extinct, but I’m your friend; I should have been so much kinder.”

Crowley’s eyes lowered down to the carpet. “I won’t lie. I wish you’d gone about it differently that day, too, but I know how much our former sides can fuck up anyone’s head. But I don’t wanna get caught up on that, because you did realize it, in the end.”

“Until the last bloody moment,” he muttered.

“But you still did it,” he lifted his gaze, “and I know that had to have been tough. Thousands of years of the ones who are supposed to be the good guys telling you one thing while your head’s telling you another.” In retrospect, it was admirable that Aziraphale came to the conclusions he did. Crowley felt a sense of pride for him.

Aziraphale nodded. “Yes. Please don’t laugh?”

“I won’t,” he promised.

“When the Metatron told me the point of the war was not to avoid it, but to win it, I nearly shed a tear for the first time. Isn’t that absurd?” he gave a self-deprecating laugh.

Crowley’s brain got stuck on the idea that Aziraphale never cried in thousands of years. As a demon, crying was seen as the ultimate weakness, so Crowley had to hide his pain, but he succumbed to his anguish every now and then when he was alone; he cried just the other day when he thought Aziraphale was dead. He cried so much he hated himself for it.

“It’s not absurd at all,” Crowley said, voice strained.

“Are you okay?” he asked.

“Heaven no, but neither are you,” he blurted out.

Aziraphale was crestfallen. “No, not really,” he mumbled.

And now Crowley felt like he was going to cry, all because of those sad puppy dog eyes. “Angel,” his voice softened, “the point is you broke free from them, and your first instinct was to call _me_. I realized how huge that was. You just needed time, is all.”

“You’re the most patient soul I’ve ever met,” he said sincerely. “Thank you. No, don’t shake your head. _Thank you_ , Crowley. You’re such a loving being.”

He blushed furiously. “I...N-not really,” he denied weakly.

Aziraphale gave him a look. 

“Okay,” he said, quieter, “but only for you.”

Aziraphale grinned softly. “You’re such a romantic, too.”

“Ugh,” he got up off the floor to sit on the opposite side of the sofa with his arms crossed across his chest and a growing blush on his face, because loving someone for thousands of years and then having them talk about it wasn’t something anyone could immediately adjust to. _You try it_ , Crowley told the audience in his head.

Aziraphale’s grin was small, but more tension was leaving his shoulders. “I think talking things out is another thing humans got right.”

Crowley snorted. “We should’ve tried that ages ago.”

“Yes.” His grin faltered. “Crowley...I know I have no right to ask this, but...do you forgive me?”

A lump in his throat weighed down his voice. “Of course I forgive you, you bloody idiot,” he rasped. No, be kinder. He swallowed. “Um. Yeah. It’s. Don’t worry about it.”

“ _Thank_ you,” Aziraphale said emphatically, eyes glistening.

His relief only made Crowley sadder and yearn to care for him more. Yeah, he had been upset. Yeah, Aziraphale could have been nicer. But if they were going to get over the fucked up shit Heaven and Hell did to them, they had to move forward. There was absolutely no use in dwelling. Crowley spent millennia dwelling over the pain from his Fall, and where did that get him? If he wallowed in self-pity with this, Aziraphale would have stayed upset, and that was unacceptable. Crowley had him on their side now, and he wanted to take care of him. He wanted the guilt and pain in Aziraphale’s eyes to permanently disappear. Maybe it was an unrealistic goal, but there was his optimistic side again.

“I don’t want you to keep beating yourself up. I think you should forgive yourself. For the other day,” Crowley said, letting the tenderness bubbling in his chest be reflected in his tone of voice.

Aziraphale’s intake of breath was audible and unsteady. “Forgive myself? I’ve...never done that.”

“Neither have I,” he gave a smile that felt more wobbly than he liked. “But we can try. It’s a new era, right?”

And then warmth radiated from Aziraphale, literally, as his cheeks pinkened and his eyes grew watery. “Are you sure? After everything I said, after being hurt and waiting for me all those years?”

Crowley’s trembling hands reached out, drawn to cup Aziraphale’s soft, pink cheeks. He was nervous, but he needed to do this. He wanted to kiss the tears away. He could feel what Aziraphale was feeling again, and it was like 1941, but so much stronger. Crowley’s jaw dropped open from the sheer force of it, filling his chest with warm, liquid gold. For a second, all thoughts flew out of his brain and was replaced by utter bliss, but Aziraphale’s persistent doubt broke through the haze. He needed to reassure him. He’d spend the rest of his Damned life reassuring and comforting him, if he needed to. If he didn’t physically feel the love Aziraphale had for him, perhaps he wouldn’t have been able to do this, but he could, and it gave him strength. 

Crowley gently traced the pad of his thumb over his pouting lower lip. For once, he didn’t splutter and stammer, and let the first thing that was on his mind be spoken. He was never good at words, but he was fantastic at loving Aziraphale. “Angel, I adore you. Be happy with me. Please. Try. We can try together.” Then, Crowley’s lips caught the tear that rolled down his cheek. He gasped and pulled back. “Augh, sorry! You didn’t say I could do that. It’s just—”

Aziraphale kissed him swiftly. “You’re allowed, darling,” he whispered in between short pecks. “You’re so kind and patient,” he kissed the corner of his mouth. 

Crowley’s brain sounded like a dial-up computer during all of this, and he sat there, slack-jawed, as Aziraphale pressed kisses to his lips. His heart was catapulting against his chest with each beat. Nothing but strangled vowels left his throat. He imagined Aziraphale kissing him over the years, but that didn’t prepare him for the sweetness of his lips. Years of anticipation did not dull the excitement.

“You’re so brave,” he kissed his cheek, and drew in a quivering breath. “So admirable.”

“Guh—hkfkjf,” Crowley whined. “You’re those things,” he hissed lamely. 

“I’m not brave,” he said with a self-conscious smile. “We just discussed that.”

“You are,” Crowley held his face in his hands, looking him in the eye. “You love me. You’re brave.” 

Somehow, Aziraphale seemed to know what he meant. His smile was shy but genuine. “That means a lot to me, Crowley.” 

They kissed in earnest now, with Crowley’s arms wrapped around his neck and Aziraphale’s hands secured on his waist. The halting, timid nature of their conversation was gone and their kisses quickly grew desperate, 6,000 years of separation and heartbreak bursting like a dam. Crowley kissed back as enthusiastically as he could, but Aziraphale still took the lead. His lips were as soft as the silky curls on his head, and tasted like cocoa. His kisses were slow, but insistent and deep. Crowley couldn’t feel Aziraphale’s emotions anymore, so he must have been controlling himself more now. He would have protested, but his mouth was pretty occupied. Aziraphale caressed his lips, pressing into them before pulling back for a couple little nibbles, and diving back in. He ran a hand through his red hair and gripped the strands at the nape of his neck.

Crowley couldn’t hold back a moan. He felt embarrassed. “Sorry.” His stupid hiss wouldn’t go away.

Aziraphale kissed him hard enough to take his breath away. “You’re allowed to show me how you really feel,” he said after the kiss. “We both are, now.” He tugged slightly at his hair.

Crowley didn’t know he liked that until now, but apparently he did, and he moaned as heat poured into his pelvis. You learn something new every day, huh? 

Aziraphale kissed both of his cheeks, and then moved to kiss his jawline, right by his ear. His kisses were deliberate. He sucked the sensitive skin, making Crowley shiver. He liked that feeling a lot, definitely, but he missed Aziraphale’s mouth. He whined, “Kiss me. Kiss me.”

Aziraphale’s mouth found his at once. “You’re wonderful,” he murmured against his lips. “Just as I knew you would be. I wanted this so very much.”

Crowley didn’t know how much he needed to hear this. He was glad kissing meant your eyes were closed, because his were stinging right now.

“Finally mine,” Aziraphale breathed.

“I always was,” he blurted out like a giant idiot.

Aziraphale kissed him roughly, but his voice and words were as sweet as buttercream. “I know, honey.” 

Crowley had absolutely no response to that pet name other than spluttering, but Aziraphale kissed him into silence. He slid his tongue into his mouth, but released a surprised _mmm!_ and pulled back. “Dear, your tongue…?”

Crowley’s brain was like melted butter, but he stuck out his tongue and felt two sections hit the air. Oh. That only happened when he touched himself and he lost control. All they did was snog and he was going out of his bloody mind. “Sorry, can’t help it,” he hissed. He knew his eyes must have been completely yellow by now.

Aziraphale smiled. “Your demonic features are rather sexy, actually.”

Crowley’s eyes widened. “You did not just say ‘sexy,’” he said flatly.

“Handsome? Alluring? Which do you prefer?” he asked innocently.

“G—Satan, I don’t care. Get back here,” he growled, grabbing his waistcoat and pulling him forward, crushing their mouths together, because hearing Aziraphale say that word made the warmth in his body slide farther down. His cock twitched, and this was nuts. He didn’t even know if Aziraphale thought about sex. Oh no, would it be too fast? He forced himself away from Aziraphale’s delicious lips.

“W-we can stop if you want,” he managed.

Aziraphale’s kiss-swollen lips turned down into a frown. “I don’t want to. Do you want to?”

Crowley was staring at the redness of his lips. “No.”

“Then let’s not.” He bit his lip. “Have you…?”

Crowley was already blushing hard, but his face felt hotter. “No,” he admitted.

“Neither have I,” he sighed. “I wanted to, but, well...we saw the first two humans be put on earth. Their lives are so short compared to ours. I feel closer to them than other angels, but—”

“But in some ways they’re still too different?” he finished his thought.

“Yes. I was tempted—don’t smirk, you serpent—I was _inclined_ from time to time, but it simply didn’t feel right. What if I lost control of my powers and hurt one?”

“I know what you mean,” he said honestly. “And besides, they’re just...like you said, their lives are so short. Even the adults seem so _young_ compared to us.” Even if he hadn’t been in love with Aziraphale, Crowley wasn’t really sure if he would have had sex with a human. Look at him now, with his tongue going forked; it was a risk he wasn’t willing to take. He was sure humans would want him to take off his glasses, too, which was out of the question.

“Exactly,” he agreed. 

An awkward pause.

“So,” Aziraphale cleared his throat. “I’m not sure how to initiate this.”

Crowley wished his eyes were covered. “Eh, urm, see, I was already kinda getting there from kissing, so we can just. Keep at it. And. Yeah.” Okay, so he admitted to being aroused in front of Aziraphale and his heart didn’t stop. Good sign.

Aziraphale seemed surprised, but relieved. “Oh, good. Yes, let’s see where things take us,” he smiled. 

The awkwardness faded when they got back into the swing of things. Neither had extended experience with kissing, but they saw humanity do it and heard them describe it in conversation and literature for thousands of years, and it was like they were made for each other. Or they were both terrible and didn’t know any better. Crowley thought that maybe it was the latter, but it felt too good for him to give a flying fuck. Aziraphale’s hands were back on his waist, gripping his hips, their torsos turned towards each other on the old, lumpy sofa. Crowley held Aziraphale’s face in his hands the way he wanted to for ages, their kisses once again going quickly into the realm of desperation. Aziraphale’s tongue licked the seam of his lips and into his mouth. Crowley let his forked tongue snake around his round one, and it was hot and a little bit silly, and they both let out a couple breathy giggles. Aziraphale’s tongue retreated and he nipped his lower lip lightly before taking it between his lips, sucking. A shiver made Crowley’s spine wiggle and he moaned. It felt like his nerves were sparking to life with every suck, and he felt his nipples harden against his shirt. He usually liked to play with them while he wanked, but he might actually discorporate from embarrassment if he played with himself in front of Aziraphale.

Their bodies needed air, annoyingly enough, so they parted. Aziraphale’s eyes had gone half-lidded and his cheeks were the loveliest shade of pink. Now, after the apocalypse, his gaze held an overwhelming tenderness and affection. _He loves me._ Crowley swept his thumbs over his warm cheeks, heart thumping. With Aziraphale telling him he wanted this, the lingering doubts in Crowley’s head grew quieter. _It’s over,_ he told himself. _He’s here._ _You’re free to love him._ Freedom after 6,000 years was a difficult concept to grasp. 

Crowley pressed their lips together slowly and gently, cradling his face. It was the softest kiss they had shared thus far.

Aziraphale whined into his mouth. 

God, Satan, _someone_ , they were really doing this. All of the waiting really paid off. If the apocalypse almost hadn't happened, how much longer would they have been employed? How much longer would he have had to wait? They almost didn’t have this; if the apocalypse had been planned for later on, they wouldn’t be doing this right now. He waited until 2019 AD, but it could have been so much longer. He was so lucky to be here with Aziraphale now. He clenched his jaw to stop it from trembling. 

Aziraphale pulled back, beginning to get worried. “Crowley?”

“I love you,” he told him, voice raspy and his throat tightening. “I’m…” He kind of felt like he needed to cry, but from relief. He felt...happy. He was happy. “I’m happy,” he said.

Aziraphale cupped his jaw. “Then why don’t you look it, dear?”

“I dunno,” he said honestly. He blinked, and then tears fell down his face. He let go out Aziraphale immediately to roughly wipe at his face. Crying was so not cool, especially in front of other people. What was wrong with him? He did feel happy, so why was he crying? “I don’t know why I’m doing this,” he said, looking down at the sofa. He felt the instinct to go run and hide, but forced himself to stay. “I’m so happy you want to be with me, Aziraphale, and I-I just started crying when I thought about it. I dunno why,” he sniffed, ears burning.

Aziraphale gently grasped his chin and made him look up. His expression was glowing with compassion and fondness. “Happy tears?”

“Those are a thing?” he asked dumbly.

“Yes, those are a thing,” he grinned. “Crowley, I’ve held myself back for so long, but now I don’t have to. Neither of us do. You can cry in front of me. I did in front of you.”

“True,” he mumbled.

“You’ve been so good to me. Let me be good to you,” he said, and then placed a kiss on his lips.

“I’m not good,” he mumbled instinctively, warmth oozing into his chest.

“To me,” Aziraphale mirrored his earlier action and kissed a tear from his cheek. “You’re good to me.”

Crowley grumbled, but couldn’t deny it, and his mind was having a hard time coming up with a coherent thought in general, because Aziraphale started peppering his face with soft kisses as his hand slid up his waist and to his chest.

“Greece,” Aziraphale whispered in his ear, running his hand over his chest. “Since Greece. You loving thing.”

Crowley had no words, but gasped when Aziraphale kissed his ear and his thumb found a hard nipple to rub. He had to reach out and grasp the back of the sofa tightly to keep himself upright. If he could go back in time and tell himself, in Greece that night, that this is where they would be, then the waiting would have been less painful. “You were so scared when you woke up,” he said, and regretted it immediately.

But Aziraphale didn’t seem to mind, his thumb rotating in circles and his breath hot on the shell of his ear. “You looked at me with such affection,” he whispered. “I should have known you loved me then.” He moved his hand, but then it slid up his shirt and was back at his chest, the warm pad of his thumb now rubbing his other nipple.

Crowley moaned, and lost his balance and fell on his back onto the sofa, one leg falling off the edge, his foot hitting the floor. 

Aziraphale just kneeled in the space between his legs and leaned down to kiss his neck, his hand going back to what it was doing like Crowley hadn’t fallen like a stupid klutz. His kisses to his neck were sloppy and hot, trailing from the underside of his jaw to his clavicles. Crowley had his arms wrapped around his neck again for support, growing hard in his trousers. He shifted his hips, his cock pressing against his zipper (because why would a demon wear pants?). He always scoffed at the term “make love” but he had a hunch that was what they were about to do. Aziraphale licked a spot on his neck, tongue teasing and hot, and then bit him.

“Ah!” Crowley cried, arms tightening around his neck. 

“Are you okay?” he asked.

“Fine,” he choked out. “Don’t stop.”

Aziraphale went back to kissing his lips, and his hand smoothed down his chest and to his belt buckle. They were breathing heavily through open mouthed kisses when Aziraphale’s hand slid down to cup his bulge.

Crowley bucked his hips into his hand, and then turned his face. “Unnggh, fuck, sorry.”

“Shh,” Aziraphale kissed the tip of his nose. “You’ve been so patient. You can reach orgasm now, if you want.”

Crowley squeezed his eyes shut, torn between groaning from Aziraphale seriously saying _“reach orgasm”_ or from his hand on his fucking cock. He settled on saying, “But I want more of you. Just keep going.”

Aziraphale did what he was told, and through hard kisses their clothes came off, some of them manually, and some via miracle to avoid breaking the kiss. Both of their breaths hitched when bare skin met bare skin. Crowley wrapped his legs around Aziraphale’s pale, plump thighs, their cocks brushing together. He had to cling to him for support or else he was going to explode. He needed support. He loved him so much, and feeling his warm, pink skin on his was enough to make each breathy exhale come out as a hiss. If he could have seen himself, he would have thought he was so stupid, blushing and hissing through his opened mouth, his fangs out and tongue forked.

Crowley ran his hands up and down Aziraphale’s back and his sides. He couldn’t get enough of him. He brought Aziraphale’s body closer with his legs, and they moaned when their cocks touched. Crowley couldn’t even look down, because he would come right then and there. Aziraphale had one hand gripping the back of the sofa for support, and he was kissing the side of Crowley’s neck as he started to thrust his hips. The pressure against him was just what Crowley needed. He was fully hard and gasping at how hot everything felt.

Aziraphale lifted his head, his mouth dropped open. He released a harsh breath, eyes gone half-lidded again, pupils blown wide. “I’m so glad you’re enjoying yourself,” he panted.

Crowley whined and had to hide his face with his hands, because damn it, he must have looked so ridiculous.

Aziraphale was peppering kisses to his hands, thrusting against him lazily. “I’m serious,” he whispered. “I’m not mocking you. You, _oh_ , goodness, you look captivating.”

Pleasure was swelling at his tip, and fuck, he was leaking. He removed his hands from his face and blinked mutely.

Aziraphale’s mouth was still hung open with arousal, but the corner of his mouth quirked up to a smile. “There you are.”

Crowley moaned and threw his head to the side, snapping his hips up and reached between them to wrap a hand around both of their cocks, because he desperately needed more. “Y-ya, you, gah, you’re still chatty in sex,” he hissed. 

“Heh, _ah_ , you know me,” he smiled before ducking his head with a groan.

Their own fluids already made it slick between them, but Crowley miracled his hand wet with lube without even knowing. 

Aziraphale bit his bottom lip, a low _mmmmm!_ coming from deep in his chest. His eyes rolled back and his lashes fluttered. He was groaning with his eyes squeezed shut, pink lip caught between his teeth.

Crowley kept his eyes on his face, transfixed. He was reminded of Greece, when Aziraphale was trustful and his face was open, and it was like that now, but so much better. Aziraphale’s moans were getting louder and they were music to Crowley’s ears. His prim and proper demeanour was gone, and he was thrusting into Crowley’s hand with abandon. His flush painted his skin from the apple of his cheeks to his chest. 

Crowley’s chest grew tight, warm from his face to his toes. He felt like he was falling in love all over again. He wheezed and used his free hand to push messy, sweaty with curls away from Aziraphale’s beautiful face. “Angel.” Maybe a bit high on arousal and affection, he murmured, “Angel mine.”

Aziraphale whimpered, taking his free hand and kissing his knuckles. “I wish we’d had this sooner,” he said, voice sounding heavy with arousal, but emotion, too.

“I’d do it all again,” he said. The tightness of the tunnel created by his hand went perfectly with the slick slide of their cocks together, and Crowley felt his bollocks pulling up. “ _Fuck_ ,” he swore. He was close, and the snap of his hips was erratic. He gazed up at the love of his life, who looked at him with all the trust and adoration in the world, and how could Crowley have wasted a single moment after the apocalypse when this was what would happen? If he knew this was in their future, he wouldn’t have had heartache since Greece.

Crowley threw his head back and his back arched off the sofa, dangling over the edge of ecstasy. “You’re so worth it,” he choked out.

Aziraphale sobbed as he came, hot and wet onto Crowley’s hand and cock. His moans were long, loud _uhhhs._

Crowley didn’t know what he did after that, because he was consumed by his own orgasm. He let out a shout and pleasure ran through his body, causing all of his muscles to tremble and his vision to turn white. His cock spurted over and over, his thighs shaking around Aziraphale’s body, and he had to lower them onto the sofa, one leg half flung out and bare foot on the floor. His arms, too, fell so that his hands were on either side of his head, his whole body morphing into jelly. He laid there, boneless and catching his breath as he gradually came down from his high. Except his chest felt a little wet, and it was colder than sweat. And there was harsh breathing that wasn’t his own.

Crowley opened his eyes and looked down to see Aziraphale hugging him, his face buried into his chest, shoulders shaking. Crowley wrapped his arms around him instantly, heart leaping into his throat.

“Aziraphale?” he croaked, voice tired from shouting.

Aziraphale shifted and buried his face in the crook of his neck, hugging him tightly. “I love you,” he said wetly. “I’m so—it’s so overwhelming. I spent so long trying to hide it and now—now I—” he hiccupped.

Crowley wrapped one arm around his shoulders and used the other to cradle the back of his head, hand diving into his hair. Being overwhelmed by emotions was something he knew all too well. They both had issues, but he knew Aziraphale was far more repressed than he was, and thought that maybe, he needed this.

“It’s all right,” Crowley murmured, rubbing his back. He kissed the top of his head. “It’s all over now. We’ll be all right.” They had both lost all control, and he couldn’t tell if the weight pressing down on his heart was from Aziraphale’s emotions or his own. Probably both. Crowley didn’t feel very composed, either. It was impossible to be calm after everything they had been through. The sight of Aziraphale crying into his neck was not easy for Crowley to witness, but he could make it better now. He wished he could emit his feelings so Aziraphale could feel how loved he was, but demons couldn’t do that, and he thought he got the picture now, anyway.

Aziraphale was shaking, but Crowley kept rubbing his back and holding him. His heart hurt, but he knew that sometimes you just needed a good cry, so he wasn’t overly anxious. Their skin turned hot and wet with sweat during sex, but they were starting to cool down now and Crowley felt a little chilly. He briefly lifted his hand to miracle a soft blanket around them, and then put his hand back into Aziraphale’s hair.

“Let it out, angel,” he encouraged. “Lor—Satan knows I’ve done that a lot over the years.” 

“I wish I could have made you feel better during those times,” Aziraphale said sadly into his neck.

“Shhh,” he held him closer. “That’s my line.” 

“Oh, Crowley, we’re ridiculous, aren’t we?” he sniffled. “I didn’t imagine our getting together would involve taking turns crying.”

Crowley looked up at the ceiling and sighed heavily. “It’s not fair, is it? That we were given the ability to feel the way humans do minus the freedom?”

Aziraphale shook his head.

“But we’ve got that freedom now.”

He nodded, still shaking. Not crying for thousands of years must have meant the floodgates were open and weren’t going to stop any time soon. “I love you so much,” he said again.

Crowley smoothed down his soft curls, their hearts beating against one another. “I know,” he said softly. He would never tire of hearing those words.

“And,” he lifted his head. “I won’t hide it anymore.” He sniffed, his tear-stained cheeks blotchy. “I’ll never stop being in love with you, Crowley.”

He wiped a tear away from a round cheek, ignoring the moisture in his own eyes. “Ditto.” Ew, that was so not fitting for the moment. “I mean.”

“I know what you mean,” he grinned, the gesture a little watery but heartfelt. “Silly dear.”

Crowley blushed. “Erm. Anyway. Feeling better?”

“I think so, for now. I can’t guarantee this won’t make a reappearance.” 

“You didn’t cry for over 6,000 years. It’s okay. It’s just me.”

Aziraphale wiped away his remaining tears, looking tired, but less upset. “Thank you. You’re a very good partner.”

Crowley shook his head and kissed him, thrilled that he could lift his head and do just that. The desperation was gone and it felt good to kiss Aziraphale lazily, their lips moving slowly, a little sensitive from the sucking and nipping from earlier.

Aziraphale pulled back after a few minutes with a happy, but mischievous smile on his face.

“What?” Crowley smiled, too.

“I’ve got an idea. I think it’s very logical.”

“Lay it on me.”

“Let’s get married,” he said simply.

Crowley choked and put a hand over his mouth so he didn’t cough in Aziraphale’s face. 

Aziraphale sat up and pulled him into a sitting position, the blanket falling at their laps. “Breathe, honey.”

Crowley only coughed more. “We-wug-we should _what?!”_ he squawked.

“Get married,” Aziraphale repeated, undeterred. “We love each other immensely and we partake in several human rituals, so why not?”

“Why not?” Crowley repeated faintly, face burning and heart pounding. Just a few days ago, Aziraphale was yelling they weren’t friends, and now he was proposing? Kind of? Satan below, freedom had a hell of an effect on him. Crowley wouldn’t have even thought of that, despite millennia of daydreaming about being together.

Aziraphale fixed his messy, damp red hair and placed a delicate kiss directly onto his snake tattoo. “No more hesitation. I want to show you off to everyone I meet. Wouldn’t it be lovely, if I introduced you as my husband?”

“Lovely,” Crowley repeated dumbly, his brain struggling to process this. “You really go all out once you’ve set your mind to something, huh?”

“You’ve no idea,” he smirked. He held both of Crowley’s hands. His emotions were close to the surface again. Crowley could feel his old pain, but it was being overpowered by determination, joy, and affection. Aziraphale’s face had more love in it than all of Heaven. “It’s like you said earlier. Let’s try to move on and be happy together. I’m quite sick of thinking about Heaven and Hell. I want to be with you and make up for lost time.” His eyes grew tender and his voice gentled. “At the end of the day, the one thing angels are meant to do is love, and yet Heaven tries to stop us. Contradictory, isn’t it? But they cannot stop me now. Let me show you I love you every day. Marry me?”

Crowley could only let out a little, hissing, “Yes.” He was astonished. His muscles wouldn’t move. He couldn’t blink. His insides were warm goo again.

Aziraphale beamed brightly. “Excellent! I’m so grateful, my dear boy.” He stood up and miracled his clothes back on. He wrapped the blanket snugly around Crowley, planting a kiss on the top of his head. “I feel like a new angel. We’ll have any liquor you want and delicious cakes, and we’ll have to make up a guest list, of course. I can’t show you off without guests,” he giggled. “I will need your input on that, but I understand you need a moment. Why don’t I get you a nice cup of tea?”

Crowley sat there, wrapped up in the blanket like a caterpillar in its cocoon, mind blank save for Aziraphale’s name playing over and over. He finally blinked. He looked at the shop, filled to the brim with books. Well, Aziraphale always did overdo it when he loved something, and now his love for Crowley was unleashed. He would dote on Crowley all the time, kiss him and cuddle him and call him saccharine sweet names. But they knew each other for a long, long time. Their banter and teasing would not disappear. Their bickering over old music and literature wouldn’t stop. They knew the worst things about each other, but maintained their relationship anyway. The ultimate test was the apocalypse, and they ultimately passed.

Crowley’s lips pulled into a big, sappy smile, and he let his face look that way.

Aziraphale returned and put a warm cup of tea into his hands. “There you are,” he smiled.

“Aziraphale,” Crowley spoke.

“Yes?”

“If you wear tartan at our wedding, I’m getting a divorce.”

Aziraphale laughed, joyful and easy. “You better draft the paperwork now, then.”

“Oh, you bet I will,” Crowley teased, enjoying the warmth of the tea in his hands. “But you know how much I hate paperwork. Might take me awhile to get around to it.”

Aziraphale sat next to him, the tension that always pushed down his shoulders fading more and more. “At this rate, it’ll probably take you 6,000 years simply to find the appropriate paperwork.”

“Probably,” he took a sip. “If you keep talking back to me, it’ll be longer.”

“Duly noted, dear.”

“And the nicknames,” he said. “I’ll divorce you for the nicknames, too.”

Aziraphale kissed his forehead. “How threatening.” He paused. “Sweetheart.”

Crowley couldn’t help but chuckle into his tea, and Aziraphale wrapped his arm around his shoulders. 

“What a nice laugh you have,” Aziraphale told him.

“Stoooop,” he whined.

Was this going to be their future? Marriage and banter for the next however many millennia until Heaven and Hell attacked earth? 

Crowley could live with that.

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you liked it! And thanks to @starwars-goodomens-whatever on tumblr for reading through and reassuring me that this wasn't one big, boring mess lol  
> If you liked this, please check out my [other Good Omens fics!](https://archiveofourown.org/works?utf8=%E2%9C%93&commit=Sort+and+Filter&work_search%5Bsort_column%5D=revised_at&include_work_search%5Brelationship_ids%5D%5B%5D=575567&work_search%5Bother_tag_names%5D=&work_search%5Bexcluded_tag_names%5D=&work_search%5Bcrossover%5D=&work_search%5Bcomplete%5D=&work_search%5Bwords_from%5D=&work_search%5Bwords_to%5D=&work_search%5Bdate_from%5D=&work_search%5Bdate_to%5D=&work_search%5Bquery%5D=&work_search%5Blanguage_id%5D=&user_id=LollipopCop)  
> Come say hi on my tumblr [@obsessivelollipoplalala!](https://obsessivelollipoplalala.tumblr.com/)

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [This Is Divorce Court Live](https://archiveofourown.org/works/22093015) by [Quefish](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Quefish/pseuds/Quefish)




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